


Sarah of Shadows

by Shadowlurker13



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 15:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 132,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17185343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlurker13/pseuds/Shadowlurker13
Summary: In the words of Mandor Sawall, it is difficult to extricate oneself once made a piece in the game of the Powers. The struggle of Order and Disorder continues under the radar in spite of the Concord between Amber and Chaos, and Sarah Williams always seems to be in the wrong place at the right time...





	1. An Epithalamial Interlude

Sarah of Shadows

_Author’s Note: This is a sequel to Labyrinth of Chaos and Veneration; you’ll probably be lost pretty quickly if you don’t read the other stories first (to say nothing of Roger Zelazny’s Amber series, which I guess doesn’t go without saying, even though I do appreciate the few of you strictly Labyrinthians who don’t know what the heck I’m writing about anymore and are willing to give it a go anyway.) (The previous footnote about the trumps still stands for the foreseeable future.)_

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An Epithalamial Interlude

“We can never predict every twist and turn of the road that lies ahead of us; some of the changes come up so quick all you can do is hang on for dear life! The other choice was immediate death – I _had_ to!”

The initial phrase at the beginning of her answer, addressed to the demon who had been tapping his claws at her bedroom window at 1:04 A.M., wasn’t quite correct, the shape of the Thari words feeling a bit foreign on her tongue from disuse. The real axiom, of course, was ‘Who can predict all the twists and turns of the coils of the Serpent?’ – but she couldn’t make herself say those words, not now. Not ever again, as casual as the sentiment would have been for her native-Chaosian audience of one to hear.

For Sarah Williams – mere Earth-shadow of Sarilda Aricline-Barimen, who in turn was daughter to Prince Julian of Amber and Tekla of the Courts – had become a Patterner of the Primal Order via attunement to the Jewel of Judgment, wiping out the lesser imprint she had previously obtained from the Fixed Logrus, and there was simply nothing that either party present could do about the fact. When she had first awoken to the sharp rapping on her windowpane and gotten up to investigate, she had spotted Gryll almost immediately by his bright yellow cat’s eyes alone upon opening the drapes; he was perched in the bare upper branches of the big oak that grew just outside (it was late autumn, but there was no snow on the ground at present), his monstrously huge bat-like wings folded up behind him in the darkness. The reflected artificial light from the streetlamp on the corner glinted from his razor-sharp teeth, which were quickly bared in a friendly grimace upon seeing her appear…but the moment she opened the window to speak to him, the thin grey lips pulled back in an audible snarl: he sensed the imprint of his Enemy that strongly!

It took Sarah a considerable amount of cajoling and reassurance to calm him back down as she hurried to get dressed in the belted white poet shirt and black leggings as quietly as humanly possible, somewhat miffed that no one on his end had bothered to brief the old demon on her current condition before sending him all the way out here to fetch her to Lord Mandor Sawall’s wedding instead of just setting up alternative transport if it was really this much of a personal affront to him.

“Nay, not ‘affront’, little Pattern-shadow,” he had almost tauntingly corrected her as she pulled on the old Chaos-morphic black leather boots; the intervening years had only made them look good as new, the hide healing itself in the absence of regular use. “It merely makes being in your physical presence somewhat uncomfortable on a metaphysical level – you have experienced something akin to this, long ago,” he approached the window in mid-flight, landed on the sill, and turned around so that she could mount him. Merlin – the sheepdog, not the king – was just going crazy downstairs in the garage, barking his head off at the evil he could sense in his territory; it was a small miracle that her parents hadn’t woken up yet! She mentioned as much to her companion, wrapping her arms about his neck as she climbed up behind him, doing her best not to think of whatever he must’ve physically enveloped recently in order to be _this_ large – he couldn’t even fit fully through the window at present! 

“Would you allow a small use of my own power to quiet him?” he graciously offered.

“No,” she whispered in his large, pointed ear, “but if my parents check in here – _shit_!” She had just heard Karen’s voice in the hall! 

Gryll just grimaced again over his shoulder – Sarah almost let go of him at the sudden visceral burst of dark energy! He lifted her out of the window, turned in midair and gestured toward her now-empty twin-bed with his scaled and clawed right hand… and a phantom of her own sleeping form appeared in the bed, the chest lightly rising and falling at regular intervals. There was light streaming under the door from the hall now… 

The demon silently closed and latched the window from the outside by his magic also, and up, up, up they flew with the speed of a hummingbird, out into the chilly, clear November night as the city of Nyack, New York fled away below them and the golden-bronze glitter of the man-made galaxy that was the Big Apple spilled out and over the Atlantic, drowning out all but the most determined of the colorless stars above them. Gryll edged out over the water, quickly leaving the land behind – a canny move, Sarah decided; one could more easily hide the shifts psychologically in a Shadow-walk if the terrain was unfamiliar and highly changeable to begin with. The waning crescent moon had already set. Soon there was nothing but the undulating deep blue below and a peaceful heavens that were getting more distinct and bright by the second. 

But Gryll just shook his head in obvious disappointment, glancing up at the completely visible constellations one saw from Shadow Earth. 

“Dead,” he pronounced them in disgust, spitting, “not even a flicker of a fiery soul. And the land – all-but anesthetized to stupor. No wonder so many shadowlings dream of escaping places like this,” he said pointedly over his shoulder without shifting his resolutely forward gaze. 

“It isn’t as terrible as all that,” Sarah rebuffed, “it does change – just a heck of a lot more slowly than you’re used to.” But she understood where he was coming from: the madly cavorting skies above Chaos never seemed to rest for a single moment, the garish striations almost nauseating for one Orderborn to concentrate on. _There’s quite a thought, though…_ “Maybe those stars up there are just asleep – what would you think of that?” There were old legends even on Shadow Earth about mountains that were really slumbering giants… 

But Gryll seemed not to hear her and she quickly took the cue to shut up: he needed to concentrate very hard to do this without a filmy-trail to follow, and she realized before too long that it was probably a lot less mesmerizing to keep her own gaze fixed firmly upward, away from that gradually changing, rhythmically undulating ocean: the water had just shifted from midnight blue to an impossible deep-emerald!

The weather was cooperating amazingly well considering the kinds of patterns that normally formed over a large body of water like this was… or was it, really? Sarah was pretty certain that that ocean they were flying over hadn’t been the Atlantic for at least twenty minutes now. But what about the time-differential? She’d been in such a rush to escape that she had completely forgotten to ask! There was a quick way to roughly discern it, however.

“Sorry to interrupt you, but are we heading toward Amber?”

Gryll actually cursed in his native tongue – but then gave a harsh-sounding bark of a laugh. “Think you the king of the abomination would grant amnesty to one such as myself even in peacetime? No, neutral ground is our destination this night, closer to the Divide but on the Order-side, for the sake of the groom,” he tacked on so matter-of-factly that the true oddness and implication of the statement didn’t really sink in for quite some time, and when they finally did there was no more time to be asking about it: a thick, dark cloud bank lay ahead of them, an unusual fog over the roiling black sea – yes, _black_. Lightning crackled through toweringly mountainous piles of thunderheads, but Gryll simply put on more altitude – it quietly dawned on Sarah that strangely there had never been a change in air-pressure, or oxygen-levels for that matter – and soon they easily sailed over the mounds of charged cotton-candy… the storm had taken on a decidedly purple hue, even some lighter shades… 

…out and away, on the far horizon, could that be daylight? Yes! An orangey star that was probably third-cousin-twice-removed to Shadow Earth’s sun made his slow and stately climb into the heavens, his train of cheery colors spread out over the sky in reverse, ahead of him, burning away the last of the competing curtain of moisture so that they could commence an easy descent. She had just sighted land off to the southeast of the direction in which they had been flying, and the demon confirmed that was where they were headed as he adjusted course and started to bring them in, swooping down like a dark bird of prey. Sarah let out a holler at the freefall adrenaline rush, shocking her nervous system into full alertness again as the lushly green island approached; the ride had begun to feel a bit dreamlike, especially considering what time of night she been awoken! The spot looked like one of the British Isles, albeit the landmass was small. High sea-cliffs rolled by below them and the warmth of the star felt wonderful, working through the chill that had settled into Sarah’s bones, until they came upon the picturesque ruins of an old cathedral – and she spotted people she recognized! The girl waved down at Merlin Barimen – human formed and in his full dark-colored regalia-of-state – as Gryll circled the crumbling structure counterclockwise, ostensibly to slow down his speed before attempting to land… but a single stone from one of the walls near the chancel came loose and crashed to the ground in a rather purposeful-looking fashion a split-second after they’d passed it. Merlin’s arms were crossed and a half-smirking frown had replaced his wide grin of mere moments before as the demon touched down – already significantly smaller than he’d been before – and carefully held still as his human passenger stiffly disembarked.

“Why the displeasure, Exalted Excellency Merlin?” the old creature addressed the king he had known since he’d held him in his rough arms as a babe. “Any temple which does not burn with the fire of the Cathedral at the End of the World is blasphemous, and as such it is our patriotic right and duty to at least defile them whenever possible. This has always been our practice.”

The casual statement of intent caught Sarah a little off-guard, and she must’ve looked it outwardly because Merlin’s look of reproval softened a bit.

“Take it easy, Gryll,” the king of all Chaos replied. “That structure is a temple to no one and _nothing_ – which is holy to us, after a certain sense. This whole shadow is more my Aunt Fiona’s idea of décor than anything of true spiritual gravity.”

“You are right – forgive me, Merlin.”

“Nothing to forgive,” the king shrugged the incident off, turning to Sarah with amusement; she automatically curtsied out of surprisingly well-ingrained habit, mentally switching into the necessary gear. “I hope you had a pleasant and uneventful journey here, Sarah – it’s good to see you in person again,” he smiled warmly, giving her a hand to rise and a once-over, shaking his head. “I suppose the old heraldry is all right for this occasion, but don’t next time – if there is a next time; you’re really on the ‘purple team’, remember?”

“There’s already enough purple and lavender in there to make you physically sick; please don’t add to it, Merlin,” a slighter, smaller man with blonde hair, sun-burnished skin and fine cavalier-style garments in orange, yellow and leather-brown interrupted from the door, striding down, approaching them: Random Barimen, of course. Neither monarch had bothered with a crown today. “If it isn’t our little Rhodes scholar,” he jestingly addressed Sarah as she curtsied for him also, “still bent on becoming a thespian? A shadow playing at shadows for the entertainment of shadows? If all the world’s a stage, then where the heck is the audience, anyway?”

“Uncle…”

“It is good to see you both, your Majesty, your Excellency,” Sarah finally got a word in edgewise, rising. “Yes, I was still planning on theatrical arts in college, but I’ve been doing some thinking, and I thought I might double-major, with the second in English, if you wouldn’t mind the extra expense, your Majesty.”

Amber’s king slowly smiled at her teasingly; they stood practically at eye-level to one another. “Meaning our dreamer would like a backup plan of sorts just in case she doesn’t become the next Ethel Barrymore?”

“If it’s not too unreasonable. My mom has gotten where she is by sheer blind luck as much as by any other factor. I’d like to do theater by itself, but I’m not keen on the ‘starving’ bit, and I don’t want to wind up with a job that I’d hate outright if it…”

“It isn’t unreasonable,” Random conceded, “but you do realize that’s going to mean a hell of a lot of work. Still, if you really think you can handle the course load and the pressure – knowing that it’s finite – I’d say go for it. I would prefer to discuss the final arrangements for this at a later date, however; in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a bit busy today. Did you at least have a few universities in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He paused, studying her, then glanced at Merlin. “I assume she was told to come this way because she owns nothing suitable to the occasion anyway. Would you mind doing the honors, your Excellency? The Jewel of Judgment might be up to the task of conjuring up articles of clothing, but I confess to not knowing the incantation necessary for such a procedure.”

“Not a problem,” the king of Chaos raised his right hand – and the neutral power source ring he wore upon it. “Hold tight, Sarah.” 

And before the girl could even blink, her simple, utilitarian riding outfit had been morphed over her form into a beautiful black velvet renaissance-style dress with belled sleeves and a white cutaway section in front of the full skirts, which was cross-laced with black ribbon, her Chaosian boots becoming delicate soft slippers to match! Her eyes and mouth were wide with surprised delight as she looked down at herself, examining his handiwork. 

The king of Amber nodded simple approval before turning away, heading back toward the structure. “We’ll see you in there, then.”

“Your Majesty,” she curtsied again for a few seconds, rising when he was no longer in view; it was so much easier to just plié beneath a long dress! 

Boy, did _that_ bring back memories…

“Now, this will only last for as long as you’re on this shadow; it’s just a very convincing mirage,” Merlin explained. Sarah was still looking herself over; there were little white accents around the seams, too!

“Just like Cinderella,” she murmured more to herself than to him. She had nearly forgotten what this kind of casual magic usage was really like.

“I’m not singing ‘Bippity Boppity Boo’,” he commented flatly.

That dry sense of humor… it was so like…

“Is Prince Corwin among the guests?” she suddenly ventured.

But Merlin sadly shook his head no. “And neither are Benedict or Julian – although those two replied and were refusals on personal grounds, each for completely different reasons. I think my dad believes he’s safest when nobody knows where he is. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. It still seems like a shitty way to live, though, never checking in with anyone – but, hey, don’t listen to me; I’m just prejudiced and bitter about this ‘cause I’m his only son. Everybody else who was free managed to struggle on down here, though,” he forcibly perked up. “Gérard has a fully-crewed ship anchored just offshore on the other side of the island – he brought most of the wedding party. I think Uncle Bleys wandered in by himself, mysterious as usual. Auntie Fi invited some close kin from her mother’s side and a few friends who weren’t afraid of the social consequences of attending a service like this; her ‘ladies’ are all crammed into what’s left of one of the side rooms, getting ready right now.” He stopped and gave her a conspiratory smile. “And as for your friend the groom – last I checked he was holed up in what might’ve been a vestry, waiting for everyone to finish primping so this shindig can get underway. He’ll be happy to see you made it.” 

“Oh, I’m not going to go bother him right now,” Sarah laughed a little, “I’m sure he’s busy joking with his best men! Your Excellency, do Chaosians carouse the night before a wedding like they do where I’m from?” she suddenly wondered aloud. “Or are they more serious about the thing, the ‘swallowing the tail’? …did I say something wrong?”

The king of Chaos’ smile had gradually turned into a much more guarded facial expression, sad concern clear in his eyes. “Sarah… you should be made aware that you are his only guest.”

“What?”

“I think he would prefer to explain it,” he demurred, gently taking her by the elbow and pivoting her, then pointing to a small side portal that stood open to the world, for there was no door. “Why don’t you go say ‘hi’ quick.” It was not a question.

Sarah took her leave of the king and, hiking up her skirts, dashed across the lawn up to the building. She had no idea where Gryll had gotten off to… until she looked up and saw him perched on the edge of one of the still-standing buttresses, motionless, like a living gargoyle; he grimaced and signed for her to be silent. It was their little secret.

Taking a deep breath, she peeked through the open doorway and lightly rapped on the bare masonry with her knuckles – immediately regretting doing so. Ow…

A strange figure within the long thin room stepped out of a thrown shadow, clad in Henry VIII’s finest: a white satin jacket with full-puffed sleeves that were slashed artfully to reveal black silk beneath, not-quite pantaloon breeches to match, black hose, and thin white-leather shoes that came to small points at the tips! The head lifted, and once the wide-brimmed hat was out of the way… 

Sarah gasped. “Lord Mandor?!” she addressed him in total disbelief – and the split-second the shock wore off it was all she could do to keep from bursting into laughter: the look was simply too ridiculous on him!

Even Merlin had looked somewhat older to her eye – more and more like his old man all the time – but Mandor Sawall hadn’t aged a day from the last time she’d seen him, which was decades ago Chaos-reckoning, considering how time screamed by near the Abyss. He approached her, the emotion in his singular ice-blue eyes (which were still too far apart for him ever to be mistaken for a true human even in this form and mode-of-dress) was more good-humored and less mocking, as he took in the sight of her as well.

“Critical comment, Sarah? This is fashionable in Amber City, if you would care to recall.”

“It’s just very… Orderly, of you,” she finally managed to force the laugh down her throat enough to speak without cracking up. “Was it just required for the occasion? Or for the company? Mine was, too, I think,” she unconsciously smoothed the fine fabric of her skirts.

He in turn couldn’t stop smiling down at her. “You’ve grown since last I saw you.” He lifted up her chin a moment, looking at her bone structure in profile, nodding. “And maturing rather nicely at that.”

She did laugh then, and blushed a little, taking an embarrassed step back. “So, this is it, then, your big day,” she continued on after a beat or two. “Are the rest of your family and friends just busy on covert government assignments, or what? It kind of stinks that they’d all miss your wedding like this; I was really surprised when I heard it was just me.”

He had begun to pace away, his arms clasped behind his back. “What else did his Excellency tell you?” 

That same strange tone…

“Nothing. He said to come talk to you about it. Mandor – sorry, Lord Mandor, what’s-”

But the sudden look of bittersweet regret and resignation in his eyes as he turned back around brought her up short. He went and sat down in a long, empty stone alcove, motioning for her to join him.

“Sarah,” he said quietly as she sat down to his right, just a whisper of his wry, crooked smile playing about his lips, “you don’t have to call me ‘Lord’ anymore – I’m not lord of anything at present save the magic that is my birthright from the Logrus; that particular inheritance cannot be taken away. But others can, when one engages in activities that the Church of the Serpent frowns upon, if not the Council.” He coolly eyed the gray stonework of the floor in front of him. “If there is such a thing as an … I don’t know that you were ever taught this word! A moment, please.” He extracted one of his small metal spheres from an inner pocket of the oversized jacket, fiddled with it for a second and switched it on. 

“…excommunicable,” he uttered in American English, and Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief, far less from the magic than from what he seemed to be saying; he left the device on. “You know what this word means, then?”

“I think so,” she forcibly switched back to her native tongue; it still felt strange speaking it to him. “You’re banned from the Church… for wanting to marry Princess Fiona?”

He nodded solemnly. “It goes beyond that, though. Unlike Amber, which is merely a totalitarian monarchy – and mostly secular in policy, oddly enough – Chaos is a highly religious nation-state. I deliberately shielded you from this aspect as much as was possible during your stay, mostly for my own reasons, although your basic welfare was among them. Desire to marry into the House of Barimen without the explicit intention of converting said spouse to the Way of the Serpent is not only an excommunicable offense, but a severe liability – socially, politically, bodily. In fact, even the idea is seen as so intrinsically dangerous that the Chaosian party in question loses nearly everything they have – including free access to family, friends, or indeed anyone else in Chaos-proper – before being banished outright, not merely beyond the Fire Gate, as in purely political offenses, but beyond the Dancing Mountains themselves, never to set foot on so much as Chaosian shadow for so long as the ‘sin’ continues… unless a conversion to Chaosian religion occurs or the Order-spouse dies, at which point one may recant and be restored to both spiritual fellowship and terrestrial holdings.”

Sarah was stunned to put it mildly. “Oh my … oh, Mandor, I am so sorry,” she began, but he simply waved it off with a thin, little lip-smile and stern shake of the head. 

“True, they stripped me of everything they could, Sarah: my dukedom, my Ways – both of them – all the shadows I had created and seen maintenanced, including yours,” his expression faintly turned a little fond. “Legally, Merlin is next in line to inherit, but he declined – which was rather decent of him – and now it all belongs to Lord Despil, whom his Excellency informs me has promised, via proxy, to take very good care of it all. I always take Despil at his word; he’s a highly conscientious and personally responsible young man. Our private tastes do vary considerably, however; it would be natural for him to attempt to ‘remodel’ and redecorate Mandorways to suit his own fancies; which I must admit run a bit more… _macabre_ , than my own – did I pronounce that right? I sense it is a loan-word in your tongue.”

Sarah nodded and gave a single humorless laugh. “Somehow that one doesn’t surprise me at all,” she rolled her eyes.

Mandor studied her a bit more closely, amused. “You sensed something sitting next to him at banquet, despite how little he said to anyone?”

“I sensed I wouldn’t ever care to be a room alone with the guy, in spite of the laidback charm-school training,” Sarah answered warily.

Mandor quietly chuckled. “There may be something to that observation. At any rate, I think I can assure you that that particular circumstance is never going to happen.” He paused a moment, becoming more serious again. “I’m not entirely cut off,” he barely breathed, as if fearing the very walls would betray him. “This is but one of the many distinct advantages of having the king of Chaos in one’s immediate family. Merlin still has the right to communicate with me as he sees fit - his position places him on nearly equal footing with the Church – but he’s still going to have to be extremely careful; should any in the Council suspect him of doing anything other than encouraging me to repent, the fallout could be politically disastrous for him.” 

At Sarah’s sudden look of extreme worry, he forced his old social smile, patting her hand. “We’ll manage,” he continued in his regular tone of voice, “we always have. High adaptability is a distinctly Chaosian trait. I may have lost a title, bit I’m about to gain a princess.” The smile turned naturally crooked as he glance up above them; the sounds of a small choir warming up echoed through the complex from the main ‘room’. 

“As well as her somewhat dubious, occasionally murderous family,” Sarah only half-sarcastically teased.

“Exactly so! See? It feels just like home already!”

The girl stifled her laughter; who knew how much of what they were saying could be overheard with so few barriers, as well as no ceiling? 

A fiery-haired-and-bearded man in incendiary-colored medieval garb unexpectedly stuck his head through the doorway, nearly making Sarah jump!

“They’re about ready to begin, Sawall,” he addressed Mandor in Thari, eying Sarah a bit strangely. Granted the tableau of them sitting together like that right before the wedding might’ve looked a little odd, but Sarah was almost too distracted by the newcomer’s eyes: they were so impossibly blue, almost turquoise…

_And his coloring…this guy has to be-_

The sphere in Mandor’s left hand discreetly clicked off. “I’ll be right there,” the groom confirmed in Thari, standing; the interloper vanished with a brief flourish of an orange cape!

“That…that was Prince Bleys!” Sarah resumed her own Thari.

“Indeed,” Mandor gave her a hand up, “and I am not entirely certain of how he feels about my being his brother-in-law as of yet, but at least he has had the decency not to pass immediate censure on the union, either, as a couple other members of the Family have already publicly done.” He passed his right arm around her shoulders and lightly kissed her head before releasing her. “Now, go on out, come back in through the main doorway, and proceed to spread yourself out over all those pews on the right-hand side of the ‘sanctuary’ – even his Excellency won’t be seated over there; he’s needed for the ceremony. Just remember: you have earned the right to hold your head high among these royals and other assorted shadow-nobles, for you bear their Pattern well, and at an octave that only their king himself can match at present.”

“Octave?” Sarah repeated, a bit embarrassed that she couldn’t recall the word at present. Even though she could basically understand the gist of what he had just uttered, this clarification behavior had been so ingrained in her during her eight-month-plus tenure at Mandorways that she still did it automatically in her former guardian’s presence when she technically didn’t have to!

Mandor sighed. “I thought I felt your Thari vocabulary slipping when you sat down beside me. You must continue your active practice with it in private – promise me,” he added, letting the authoritarian edge he had initially conditioned her with creep back into his voice, satisfied that her response was still a demure little nod before she walked away, smiling. It was nice to learn that that particular exercise had not been a complete waste of time…

The Pavlovian effect was not lost on Sarah, either, as she made her way on around to the front of the ruined chapel and entered past gaily liveried Amberite guards who slightly nodded to her in passing: she had very nearly responded ‘yes, Father’ back there! It was a small but sobering reminder of just why and how it was that she knew Mandor Sawall of the Courts in the first place! 

But there was little chance to think the matter over further; Sarah’s train-of-thought was immediately derailed by what lay within: the bare greystone masonry had been beautifully decked out in huge garlands of flowers and creeping vines like ivy and fragrant honeysuckle, as well as ribboned bouquets along the handful of purple-cushioned pews, making the whole place smell heavenly. They were strung across the open ‘ceiling’ also; it was like being enclosed in an ornamental garden! She passed huge standing green and lavender tapers that lined the petal-carpeted center aisle, politely smiling at the unknown noblesse who turned to stare at her as she entered… and appropriated a very conspicuous position on the near-aisle of the second-to-front right-hand pew. 

It was only once she was seated thus, still looking about, that she finally realized that the choir was situated up in a crumbling gallery on what should’ve been the second-floor when the building had been intact; she had to reassure herself that, with at least two Chaosians here, it had to be physically safer than it looked. The conductor seemed to receive a cue out of nowhere, and some of the most beautiful singing Sarah had ever heard in her life commenced as the kings of Amber and Chaos slowly strode up the aisle shoulder-to-shoulder with a dignity and gravitas that really drove home who and what they were; all stood and made show of respect upon their passing. In their train were the princes of Amber in attendance with the women of Fiona’s family on their arms: first bright Bleys, then gigantic dark Gérard, and… was that Random’s son Martin?! Even in ‘normal’ clothing with his hair redyed back to its natural darker color for the occasion, the fact still remained that he had an obvious Mohawk even if it wasn’t standing up straight with styling products at the moment! His skin from the chin down was completely covered in tattoos, currently empty piercing holes all over areas of his face where various pieces of jewelry would’ve normally protruded, and…was that an electrical outlet in the side of his neck?! Sarah had been taught in Chaos that the Courts held out some hope in the fact that the heir-apparent to Amber’s throne was so malleable by Shadow-cultures, but it was still quietly astounding that a Straight Edge punk had come out of this society! Queen Vialle – slight, dark, lovely as ever, blind – strode by proudly her adopted son’s arm, followed by princesses Flora and Llewella on the arms of a couple unknown lords, as well as a handful of assorted ladies-in-waiting (although it was impossible at present to know whose they really were, for the livery of the latter was all Fiona’s.) 

The processional – which had heretofore been a general chorus about the beauty of nature and the natural order – abruptly changed to a minor-nigh-atonal key as Mandor Sawall stepped into the aisle alone, tall and stately. It… it was their story of evolutionary cosmic progression! 

‘Out of Chaos, dark and formless, striving ever onward, toward the Light of Order…’

 _No wonder he’s been banished!_ Sarah thought sadly as he strode past her, taking his place to the right before the two kings; the empty altar area was rather spacious, all the party still standing at attention there, the men crowding her line-of-sight. _And to think that he could’ve been Chaos’ king…_

But the odd meandering melody line resolved itself into a triumphal anthem as the bride appeared – on the arm of Dworkin Barimen! The hunchbacked sage just barely managed it, when it could’ve easily looked the other way around, with him leaning on _her_ for support! Granted they were both in purple – the princess’ a rich deep velvet dress with a pale-green cutaway panel, not unlike the style of her bridesmaids (or even Sarah’s for that matter), but the bridal gown was far more ostentatious, dripping in polished emeralds and amethysts, festooned in ribbons to match; her bright red hair was elaborately braided with them as well, and a bejeweled silver tiara completed the ensemble. But ancient Dworkin’s own attire was like something straight out of a hippie stoner’s nightmare, his frail little form swathed in layers of Chaosian-style robes of purple and neon-orange, with an utterly wild turban wrapped about his head and even wilder shoe-stockings of the thinnest purple-dyed snakeskin leather in existence anywhere – ceremonial grade, Sarah realized! He simply took the few rudely dropped jaws in the pews in the stride, so-to-speak, and gave Sarah that eerie little smile of his, sparing her a lightning-fast glance out of the corner of his eye upon passing her, before reaching the company, lovingly placing Fiona’s hand on Mandor’s arm before stepping up past the two kings to officiate.

The ‘rite’ itself was actually rather short out of necessity; any and all references toward either power had to be cut out of it. The closest they got was a brief homily from Dworkin, the contents of which, by some of the reactions Sarah observed, had definitely not been on the agenda – about no matter how the powers fought, they still had to come together to do it, and here one from each of them came to be joined, and even They knew not what would result from this union in the future, but that such striving together should not preclude love, for older than even the Unicorn and the Serpent were the Eleven Elders who had watched both powers spring into existence before Time, who took no sides yet observed all, and it was to these hallowed beings that he commended them before granting his blessing. 

The rest was far more mundane, the vows between the bride and groom extemporary yet heartfelt, and soon the two kings produced a large scroll and a fountain pen – the final document which legally bound the former duke and princess in Amber, Chaos, and all of Shadow as man and wife. There were many sections which had to be jointly initialed, culminating with their signatures at the bottom. All who were present had to undersign as well as witnesses, coming up the aisle in a line to do so before returning to their seats; Sarah carefully flourished hers in the calligraphy style she’d been taught in Chaos, beneath gorgeous Princess Flora’s own impeccable hand. Once the document was completed, King Merlin arcanely divided it into two identical copies, giving the original to Random, along with his hand to shake.

And then Fiona surprised everyone – including her new husband – by quickly levitating over a foot off the floor to kiss him on the mouth, throwing his ridiculous hat across the pews! This was met with laughter and applause as the choir burst into a joyous chorus and the newlyweds and assembly marched out of the chapel and into the open field to dance, stripping the garlands off the walls as they went. Musicians from Random’s court were waiting there already, pipers and string players, harp and tambourine and drums. They danced a simple spiral on the spot, winding round and round Mandor and Fiona and a lone violinist in the center, below that dreamlike sherbet sky, with the sounds of the surf echoing in the distance…

It wasn’t until much later while they were all sitting at the wedding banquet (which had been ‘catered’ by the groom, of course) that the change in Mandor’s demeanor finally dawned on Sarah, as she watched him interact with such ease with all and sundry: he was free of the burden of his position in life, the almost unthinkably overwhelming level of responsibility which had long rested upon his shoulders! Aside of his connection to the princess, he had become John Q. Public as far as these people were concerned, and he seemed to be relaxing into the part rather comfortably already! 

She was glad _someone_ was able to relax here: once the first dance had ended with the couple jokingly tied up in the flowers – and subsequently cut free, save for their wrists which were left tied together (his left, her right), Mandor had insisted on formally introducing his former ward to those present whom she had not met since the rest all knew each other at least to hail in the street. Sarah had learned the Royals by rote and reputation alone from her studies, but being faced with a bunch of them in person was simply overwhelming! While it was made known that she had performed some important political service which was of benefit to both monarchs in the past, the explanation of her presence was left at that, and to her small relief she didn’t garner much subsequent attention from most of them beyond a few polite surface questions and a handful of obvious ‘public relations’ smiles for the most part. Martin – who at least looked closer to her age – casually asked her what kinds of music she listened to, and was obviously disappointed by her answer as he looked about for someone else to talk to. Once the groom (bride in tow) and the king of Chaos had retreated back to the chapel to prepare it for the wedding feast, however, some of the other gentlewomen present began peppering her with far too many questions for comfort, and Prince Gérard gallantly-yet-awkwardly cut in, coming to her rescue as it were, leading her away from them as he asked her whether there was a good football team at the college she was planning on attending on King Random’s scholarship, whether she kept up with the sport at all, professional or collegiate – ruing that his nephew Merlin, with all the latent powers he seemed to have at his disposal, either couldn’t or wouldn’t rig up an inter-shadow satellite T.V. service so that he could watch! Sarah couldn’t help but like the gentle giant (who, incidentally, had to have been wearing half-a-football-field’s worth of blue and grey silks in his own current outfit), and she patiently listened to his stories of playing defensive tackle for the Alabama Crimson Tide under Bear Bryant in the late 50s and early 60s on Shadow Earth, completely baffled that he had even been there – and not about to ask why – until it was time to eat.

And eat they did: the pews and candles had vanished off the face of the world and been replaced with a long trestle-table, already laden with the meal in entirety; Mandor deliberately caught Sarah’s eye and flashed her a devious little smile – there was nothing to be gained from giving his Orderborn guests heart-attacks as courses spontaneously appeared and disappeared on cue! And his chosen menu fit the general oeuvre rather well: roast pheasant with a sweet/savory wine sauce and a fruit chutney that the birds had been stuffed with; thinly-sliced venison steak drizzled in a garlic sauce spiked with fresh herbs; numerous kinds of vegetable tarts – turnips and salty mozzarella in butterflake, tangy onion-apple in a quirky thin-rolled rye, spinach and mint with parmesan and sweet spices with ground fennel baked into the crust… the list went on, with no two alike. A veritable cornucopia of fruits – fresh, stewed, and candied, both Order-based as well as Chaosian – were artfully displayed throughout; Sarah almost cried when she spotted slices of a turquoise melon she hadn’t tasted in over two years! All the seasonings were relatively subdued as well, no doubt to better suit the neo-medieval palates they had been designed for: piquant and complimentary yet not dominating. In other words, perfect as usual, even by the Amberites’ standards. 

Sarah had nearly forgotten just how delicious Mandor’s _deus ex machina_ cuisine really was. After her return home from her adventures, Karen had been rather surprised to find her stepdaughter spontaneously take to the kitchen like pitch, but for as accomplished as the girl had gotten over the past couple of earth-years – and with quite a number of different dishes and cooking techniques – this little display was a very stark reminder of just how much better it could get (even if her former guardian was technically cheating after a certain sense.) To his credit, none of the dishes seemed to be laced with any manner of spells for a change; perhaps it was considered gauche at best and impolitic at worst due to just who all was at table. At one point, the groom even went so far as to toast the other end of existence as best he could manage:

“To Amber – long may she remain as unmovable and sturdy as Mount Kolvir!”

…And all had joined in with a cheer. Gryll’s large, pointed ears had to have been burning with his words, Sarah thought, but there was hardly anything he could’ve done about it that wouldn’t have immediately landed him – and probably the two Chaosians present – in hot water, not to mention drawn swords and general pandemonium!

But as festive-nigh-raucous as the general atmosphere of the party was, the simple fact that Sarah was the groom’s only guest artificially inflated her social status for the event, to the point that she had been seated between Princess Llewella (who was pleasant enough after her own fashion, albeit rather pointedly reserved, her pale-green half-Rebman coloring putting her young human dinner-partner in mind of a rather different girl) and one of Fiona’s first-cousins from her mother’s side, who was undisguisedly miffed at being publicly upstaged like this, and made a point of ignoring Sarah for the duration of the entire meal! It was just as well; some of those assembled spoke a distinctly regionalistic dialect of Thari that the girl had more than a little difficulty in understanding. 

If dinner had been the stuff of legend, the wedding cake was a dream given substance, enrobed in a rich almond-anise marzipan fondant, shot through with thick slices of a fruit – which was supposed to be ‘local’ to this cluster of shadows – that was buttery in texture like a perfectly ripe mango, yet pale and tasting of a sweet custard instead… and an insinuation of rose-flavoring which only consciously blossomed upon the tongue a couple of seconds after one had swallowed, the effect nothing short of heavenly. Needless to say, the dessert course took some time.

Once the meal was quite finished and the table had been magically pushed to the far-right side of the room to make space, the dancing started again in earnest as that tawny star began to set, torches being fixed in the walls to maintain the necessary level of light. Sarah rued that there was no real opportunity for her to ask his majesty King Random about Sarilda: she was curious to know how her original was faring under her father Prince Julian’s cool gaze and tutelage, and she hadn’t been sure whether it was all right to bring it up with any of the other royals. Surely at least some of the immediate family knew about her original by now, but who and how much? Sarah inwardly sighed, watching the finely dressed lords and ladies spin and weave in intricate patterns about the floor; maybe she’d have a chance later when the two kings finalized her scholarship. She genuinely hoped the kid was doing okay.

“May I have the honor of this dance, miss?” A male voice broke in on her private thoughts; she turned where she was seated… and was rather surprised to find Prince Bleys!

“Your choice flatters me, my lord,” she carefully used the semi-formal address most of the House of Amber (for whatever reason) historically seemed to prefer to the proper one, “but I couldn’t possibly – I don’t even know how to do that!” she gave a self-conscious little laugh, looking back at the other dancers.

But he persisted with a little teasing smile of his own, giving her a hand up from the table, his deep blue eyes merry as the devil. “Yes, you do; you simply do not remember yet,” he answered her cryptically, leading her out into the open space with the rest.

 _I think I know a newly-made Chaosian duke you would get along with swimmingly_ , she thought, but wisely kept her mouth shut as he began. _At least I’m safely in public…_

…and to her shock and amazement, all the steps were familiar, second-nature in fact! Weave dance or reel, courante or Silent with accentuated clapping and stamps, she not only knew them all but the movements were ridiculously easy – it had to be some kind of spell! She glanced about the room for the prince; she’d left him behind ages ago (almost none of the dances were performed permanently partnered). He saw the question in her eyes and gave her a dangerous smile that set her nerves on edge, glancing pointedly in turn at his full-blood sister, who was currently twirling entwined in Mandor’s arms.

 _But of course._ ‘The Witch of Amber’ the lady was called elsewhere (and not in a good sense, either.) The epithet was certainly earned; the small working she had performed here had been so flawless that Sarah hadn’t even noticed when it was laid upon her! 

There were a few more songs before the groom requested the musicians’ silence and all but Mandor and Fiona cleared off the floor, crowding the table; Merlin stood close by Sarah, and the king was obviously in high spirits, as if he was in on whatever was about to happen next. Her hunch was right: Mandor turned and signaled his brother, fire practically dancing behind his inhuman eyes, and Merlin quietly uttered four unconnected words in ancient Chaosian Thari – a spell lynchpin! 

The strains of a lone lute-player (was it a lute? The resonance was almost too strange, submerged somehow) slowly filtered in from out of nowhere, followed by two deep alto-register flutes and a highly variable percussion section that seemed to be there less to keep a steady beat than to accentuate certain movements of the dancers at very specific moments, more along the lines of jazz improvisation.

And such a dance – Sarah had never seen anything like it in her life! The motion was sensuously flowing one second, only to shift to an abrupt staccato that bordered on physical violence, and back again at odd intervals! They seemed to attack each other in various ways at proscribed moments; the whole thing had to have been carefully choreographed to avoid real injury – Fiona had just made a show of biting Mandor’s neck before all-but swooning away in his arms, laying back as he supported her limp torso, before thrashing back to life! But, by increment, the discordance in the music was beginning to slowly unify, parts of the rhythm developing coherence as they gradually stopped struggling against each other and began to move in closer and closer time until all was performed in perfect complimentary tandem; they moved as if they had just fused into one serpentine creature – any motion Mandor began, Fiona completed, and vice-versa – until the undulating coils of the Logrus Herself slithered about them from out of Mandor, and with a sudden and feverish shivering speed in the music there was a rearing back like a cobra preparing to strike-

And a hand suddenly covered Sarah’s eyes! There were a few audible gasps from the audience… before the applause!

 _Oh, come on!_ She deliberately thought hard at the person the hand was connected to, trying not to laugh; from the bit of billowy sleeve in her face, it was obviously Merlin. The music quietly hissed out of existence before he uncovered them.

“You are in no way old enough or otherwise prepared to witness the climax of a Chaosian wedding dance – you’re not even out of double-digits yet,” he apologetically smiled down at her a bit patronizingly. The corporal band, such as it was, had started up again and seemed to be taking requests at this point, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred!

“What about Martin, then?!” she whispered, annoyed.

“My cousin has already experienced pretty much everything else in existence, as you could guess just by looking at him; this merely completes his education.”

“Sarah.” 

It was Mandor; Fiona was standing at his back, pretending to ignore them for privacy’s sake – Sarah had to smile at the gesture. Most of the other guests were migrating back out on the floor again or lounging at the table drinking; only one or two might have been paying them even passing attention. “Thank you so much for coming, but from the fatigue I see in you it’s well past your bedtime. What time and day was it when you came here?”

“About one-in-the-morning, Thursday,” the words all but slipped out of her mouth; she was far too well conditioned.

“Then it would be irresponsible of me to keep you out any later when you have school tomorrow – yes, I felt that thought. You have already lost a little over two hours, wouldn’t you say so, your Excellency?”

“More or less,” Merlin noncommittally commented, watching the dancers, goblet in hand.

“Then it is past time for you to be leaving us.”

“But the party’s still going!” she protested, in no hurry to return to her ‘normal’ life just yet. How she had missed this! The pageantry, the different culture, being treated like she was someone other than just another kid, another lonely dreamer in a sea of dreamers. 

Nobody.

“Sarah,” Mandor assumed his ‘father’ tone, “this isn’t the end – at the very least King Random usually requires some service to the ‘True City’ once one of his scholarships is completed, and both he and Merlin will be in touch with you long before then. As for us,” he glanced over his shoulder at his new bride, “well, beyond the honeymoon, we’re still shadow-shopping for a home that suits both our tastes,” he gave her connected wrist a little playful tug. “Honestly, I’m beginning to suspect this may very well be the most difficult portion of the entire operation.”

“Well, if someone didn’t insist on every last aspect of nature following a specific aesthetic dance, this could be a lot easier,” Fiona rejoindered, pulling on him in return.

 _They already bicker like an old couple,_ Sarah inwardly smiled – then remembered that, timewise, they really were! Their courtship had likely taken decades, Chaos-reckoning!

Her train-of-thought derailed, though, as Mandor very discreetly formed the smallest Logrus hole she had ever seen – an inky void that was barely the size of a baseball – and pulled a small white box out of it, quickly banishing the aberration before anyone else could notice, and presented it to her.

“Since you obviously still don’t drink. For the occasion,” he added conspiratorially, the old sideways smile firmly in place. 

Sarah lifted open the lid, having no idea what to expect: nestled inside a layer of tissue paper were four high-theobromine-yield deep chocolate truffles – she could smell them even before they were totally unwrapped! But they were perfumed with something else, a kind of botanical… she froze upon recognizing it, eying him warily: it had to be an extract concocted from the euphoria-inducing flowers that grew in the pocket-shadow he had made for her private playground! They were spiked with _joy-blossoms?!_

“It’s perfectly safe,” he reassured her. “You _did_ specify nontoxic; you could’ve eaten any plant material growing on that shadow without experiencing any ill effects at all – and that includes _dependency_ ,” he added in a whisper, knowing her concern at this close of proximity. “I know you’ll consume one tonight even if just out of curiosity, but try and save the others for when you really and truly need them; one is enough. As long as they remain in the closed box, they’ll keep.”

The aroma had gotten Fiona’s attention, too. “Hey, where are mine?” she coyly pouted.

“Later,” he purred in her ear, reaching around and caressing her jawbone, behind her ear and down her spine with his free hand, watching her involuntarily shudder, seemingly oblivious to his own company for the moment!

“Oh – ah, Princess,” Sarah awkwardly interrupted, “thank you for the…”

“For the invite?” Fiona instantly recovered her composure, grabbing her husband’s wandering hand; Sarah suddenly wondered just how much _he’d_ had to drink tonight, his usually pallid face just a little bit flushed. “Of course you were a welcome addition to our guest list.” She smirked. “It’ll wear off by itself in another hour or so,” she informed her quietly. “We couldn’t have you sticking out like a sore thumb out there on the dance floor, now could we? We’ll be in touch somehow,” she warmly took Sarah’s hand with the one that was secured to her husband’s, and Mandor took it after, bringing hers as well as Fiona’s to his lips in turn!

 _Okay, he’s probably a little drunk_ , Sarah thought with a rueful smile of her own as Merlin escorted her back out of the glowing ‘chapel’ and into the warm summer evening, away from curious and prying eyes; Random had nodded to them slightly in acknowledgement on their way out, his own wife currently occupying his lap. The stars were all wondrously visible, but the galaxy that was in close view was certainly not the Milky Way…

“I hope you didn’t have your heart set on flying back – I let Gryll go home hours ago; all this physically non-flowing scenery was beginning to make him landsick,” Merlin apologized, raising the spikard to ready the transport.

“No, that’s alright,” she replied. “Oh! I almost forgot! He left some kind of a phantom to simulate me sleeping while I was away! Will it just dissolve, or…”

“Then I’d better accompany you myself; I could give you a general breakdown spell, but I don’t know what he used.” Considering for a moment, the king pulled his trump deck from a pocket deep in his inner tunic and shuffled through them until he located the one he was looking for and said, “Establish remote terminal.”

Sarah’s heart leapt as the Ghostwheel’s spinning halo-light burst into existence before them!

“Sarah, this is a pleasant surprise!” the intelligent automaton greeted her in Merlin’s own voice. “Did you finally get another mission from my dad?”

“Sorry to get your hopes up,” the king addressed his creation, “we just need a quick transport to her house on Shadow Earth, and then you can bring me back here so I can finish getting well and thoroughly tanked with my favorite brother one last time.”

“Oh,” Ghost said, sounding a little disappointed, “in that case, you are already there.” He widened out and came down over them both… and the next second they were standing in her darkened bedroom! Sarah noted that the fine dress had vanished and she was back in her own clothes again as Merlin approached the bed. Summoning the Logrus, he used it to make a single sweep down the length of the phantom of her, erasing it; he banished the Sign.

“We’ll talk in a year, your time,” he whispered. “Take good care of yourself. I’ll see you later.” 

“Goodnight, your Excellency,” she whispered back with a curtsy, “and thanks – no, really.”

Merlin smiled. “Just part of the job.” Ghost’s circle of golden light rose up over him and he vanished.

Sarah stood there for a few seconds, then let out a huge sigh and went to the laundry hamper to strip; she had no idea if Gryll left behind any kind of scent, but she had a feeling she didn’t want to find out the hard way with her dog. Slipping her nightgown back on, she extracted one of the dubiously enhanced truffles from the small box she’d been clutching, carefully stowing the rest away in that black leather backpack Mandor had gifted her with (she was saving it for college). Lying down on the bed – not totally sure what the effect would be like – she gave it a single lick… then impulsively popped the thing into her mouth in one go without thinking: the flavors of sinfully rich bittersweet chocolate and tincture-like alien attar just exploded over her palate, the silky texture languorously melting away, layer by layer…

And she melted into the mattress in pleasure, almost with a floating sort of sensation – she could practically feel those mutated grass blades massaging her back and neck again, the triggered tactile memory was so strong as her eyes slid closed…

And she had blissful dreams of the Shangri-la of her old pocket-shadow, until her alarm went off the next morning, far too early for her fatigue in spite of the unusually good mood that lingered throughout most of the rest of the day.

 _Just how much of that stuff did he put in those things, anyway?_ She thought with a fond smirk, thinking of the mildly compromised mental state Mandor had been in when he formulated them. She hoped he and Fiona would be happy, that it would work out, that she would be allowed to see them some time.

But Sarah would not see white hair, pale hide, nor black-and-white livery of Mandor Sawall again – until the discovery…


	2. Speak of the...

_(Prelude music: Tori Amos, Native Invader – ‘The Reindeer King’)_

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Chapter 1 – Speak of the…

Changing places of residence has to be one of the most universal of cultural human experiences – at least in technologically-developed countries in the western hemisphere of Shadow Earth – the necessary steps so predictable that they should be tedious to the participant. And yet the activity is still so often an emotionally fraught affair, sifting through years or even decades’ worth of life; sorting, boxing, and relabeling one’s memories, re-evaluating the past, and leaving bits and pieces of it behind.

It took a very strong act of will for Sarah Williams not to just wallow in the nostalgia and keep all her old toys and games: whatever was deemed unsuitable for her little brother Toby’s creative (yet often unintentionally destructive) play, she had donated to the Salvation Army. Upon the approach to the building, she had very nearly turned her car down a different side street, away from the loading dock, but she had forced herself to think of a little girl who would be overjoyed at receiving her old dolls and girly picture-books, and backed in, opening the trunk so the boxes could be retrieved. 

It wasn’t quite the same thing as preparing to leave a place never to return again even to visit, but moving out of her childhood home to go away to college when she had never lived anywhere else was enough of a traumatic experience for Sarah in spite of how excited she was to be attending Syracuse in the fall. Man, had _that_ decision ever taken a long, haggling conference-style trump-call meeting between her, King Random, and King Merlin. Amber’s liege had proven unwilling to shell out enough money for her to go to Julliard or NYU, especially considering the fact that he would benefit very little from her education in any future service to Amber; the idea was almost too complicated by the fact that she was publicly known to be an enemy spy, but in the end he had agreed to finance her tenure at Syracuse, and at Merlin’s cajoling threw in a generous housing and living expense allowance – enough that she could afford her own apartment without roommates, just a couple blocks away from campus! She could concentrate fully on her studies without the distractions of stupid dorm parties or part-time work. Granted, she would be buried up to her eyeballs in work come the beginning of her freshman semester, between the core requirements and the credits for both of her majors, but this was still a huge step toward personal freedom – the price apparently being slavery in academia, but still it was a heck of a start.

It had proven significantly more difficult for Sarah to reassimilate back into her native world after her sojourn in Chaos and her adventures in Amber and Shadow than even she realized it would be. So many of her small uses of Logrus power had become unconscious reflex that it was likely a very good thing that it didn’t work anymore, or she would’ve had a _lot_ more to explain than a few odd gestures and peculiar mumbled words (although she did learn pretty quickly that the ‘it’s from a role-playing game’ excuse could be used liberally to explain a multitude of mildly odd behavioral discrepancies.) But while certain behaviors gradually faded into the background, she had found the Amber-centric worldview far harder to consciously shake off. She simply knew too much about the nature of ‘reality’ now – or at least something that could influence what passed for it on this shadow. Military conflicts, the stock market crash of ’87, bizarre crop circles appearing in England: she couldn’t help but wonder what was really happening at the epicenter of Order, to trigger all these things ‘out here’. It was like a cosmic version of the Butterfly Hypothesis: the proverbial ripple in Amber could make a hurricane on Earth. She couldn’t help but wonder about Shara’s New Yark, too; was that awful crash only a recession where her co-shadow lived? Sarah had finally learned from King Random that Sarilda actually seemed to be doing fairly well in her new life circumstances, all-considered, even though sometimes her father Prince Julian would catch her trying to harbor some serpent or other, hidden in their camp in the Arden Forest, trying to make a familiar from a dangerous species! Apparently old habits died slow with Sarah’s original as well, although for all the prince’s aggravation over the situation, brainwashing from birth seemed a far more reasonable excuse for unwanted behavior than just petty, childish rebellion. 

And Merlin had been right, too: Sarah couldn’t tell a soul a single thing about any of this, and it _did_ suck – not family, not friends, not guys she dated. Nobody. She’d held off even trying to date until her junior year of high school just to rub the choice in Karen’s face (they still didn’t see eye-to-eye on everything), but her past really was the proverbial 600-pound gorilla in the room and she simply couldn’t ignore it no matter how badly she wanted to; her discomfort always wound up showing through and she could never explain it away. And _that_ feeling always got her started thinking about an even more alienating topic: her literal 600-pound Chaosian silverback gorilla with the extra arms and legs – with Princess Fiona adoring all that muscle and fur! It wasn’t quite as bad as the giant ape winding up with the blonde in ‘King Kong’, but it was definitely on the approach on the kink-meter. She hoped they were at least happy, wherever they’d wound up. Mandor had yet to contact her again. 

In a way Sarah felt older than everyone she knew, even if she wasn’t that much more mature. What in the world was there to have in common that didn’t seem shallow and fleeting – even cosmically provincial – compared to the possibilities that lay beyond her world? The arts still seemed a decent candidate in that direction, however, and her tastes and friends had followed accordingly… but there was still a certain degree of personal separation. What was Láre doing these days? Was she introducing the Theatre of the Absurd accompanied by interpretive dance to the undersea audiences in Rebma, City in the Bay? Did she still wonder on rare occasion what had happened to ‘S’Aiya’? 

Yep – Sarah just knew too much to ever comfortably fit into this plane of existence ever again. At least her inbred studying habits from Mandorways were serving her well: that she had apparently attained such a prestigious-looking scholarship to such a well-known arts college had almost seemed natural to her parents at this point. In a sad way it was going to be a relief to be getting away from all of this, to go somewhere where nobody knew her, where she could try to start her life over. Or – failing that – at least have some different life experiences.

She surveyed her cleared-out bedroom one final time and gave it a sad half-smile. While she hadn’t entirely lived up to her private threat to goth the place up, she had painted over the dated wallpaper with a nice, soothing blue and gradually replaced the almost embarrassingly nursery-like motif with a more polished old-world-antique look that frankly baffled her stepmother, yet got her father’s quiet approval: who were either of them to say what kind of woman she would grow up to be? As much as she had worshipped her birth-mother growing up, as Sarah edged toward adulthood it became painfully obvious just how immature and self-centered the woman actually was, only wanting to interact with and be affectionate toward her daughter when it suited _her_ – almost feline behavior, really, just like a finicky house cat. It helped Sarah to deal with her by mentally couching it in these terms: Linda couldn’t help the way she was wired any more than Sofi could… and she found herself thinking of the demoness, too, sometimes, wondering what unfathomable places she haunted now, who she was eating for breakfast…

Of course, none of this prepared her for Linda’s death – but then again, there isn’t much in a relatively peaceful life that can psychologically prepare one to deal with a homicide. By all eyewitness accounts it had been a freak accident, just one of those things that can statistically happen living in a big city like New York: her mother had been fatally shot by a bullet which had been fired a quarter-of-a-block away at someone else and ricocheted off a lamppost straight into her head, killing her instantaneously in a crosswalk. The funeral had only been three months ago, and Sarah’s remaining parents had told her that she didn’t have to move out just yet if she didn’t feel up to it, that it was alright to start college the semester after, but to their surprise she had insisted anyway.

It was just time to move on.

Toby almost ran into her, tearing down the hallway in a mad dash just because he could, with that huge grin on his little face; Sarah was going to miss him, annoying little brat that he was, especially now that he had started nominally talking.

_He has to take after Karen_ , she thought ruefully: the type just had to keep making more of its own; the deliberate species-metaphor had not ended with her mother. She caught him on his way back, lifted him off his feet, and gave him a big bear-hug, which he struggled against mightily and in vain. Shoofing his strawberry-blonde hair (definitely his mother’s boy), she finally let him squirm free and escape back to his room as she headed down the stairs with her final box, and on out of the house to her car, where her parents were waiting to say their goodbyes. She’d known this would be hard for her father, but even Karen was looking a little misty and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tell her what a fine young lady she was becoming – and that they were proud of her.

Pulling out of the driveway, watching their waving forms rapidly receding in the rearview mirror, she turned the corner, drove about half the block – then gunned the engine like a Prince of Amber, pulling into the main road that led to the highway and out of town: she had done it – she was _free!_ A whole month before classes started, all to herself! Plenty of time to get settled in, to see the sights and familiarize herself with the campus, to go be crazy for at least a couple weeks, doing anything, anywhere she damn well pleased! The feeling was glorious as she merged out onto the highway, heading north. Almost wishing it was autumn already…

_No – concentrate on the road!_ She quickly admonished herself; as tempting as it had been to try it out on certain occasions, Sarah had deliberately neglected the potential powers she had obtained from mentally (spiritually?) traversing the Pattern inscribed in the Jewel of Judgment, at best hoping to be able to remain a neutral player in whatever cosmic game was afoot by refusing to invoke either power, at worst terrified that she could get lost shadow-walking alone with no one to so much as look for her! The Ghostwheel’s step-by-step walkthrough of how to get to New Yark and back to her old house again was still sorely tempting, though. Maybe she’d finally muster the nerve to try it out, now that she wasn’t expected anywhere; there had to be a time-differential involved since the place was several shades closer to Amber by Ghost’s reckoning, but there was no conversion table anywhere in the instruction manual (although there were a few rather odd directives that seemed to be more for the writer’s amusement than anything practical or useful, leading her to suspect that it was possible for a sufficiently developed AI to evolve a sense of humor.) Oddly enough, quashing this tendency to ‘shift’ had been the hardest thing about learning to drive for Sarah – and she could well understand why Random Barimen preferred shadowruns in this fashion; the process would feel… well, ‘natural’ was probably too strong of a word… _smoother_ , this way, provided one could maintain a decent driving surface.

Many thoughts crowded her mind on the hours-long trip up to Syracuse, more than a few occupied by Mandor Sawall, of that first drive (wow, had _that_ ever been crazy), occasioned by some of the scenery – one of the worlds they had rolled through that day had looked a little like this… _No - eyes on the road._ At one point she flipped on the radio on a whim and tuned it to the local heavy metal station for distraction, remembering a very different car-ride…

Sarah’s new apartment was a one-bedroom affair on a third-floor walkup with a tiny attached living room, but it was rather nicely spaced for what it was, with a kitchenette that actually had a small range and oven along with the other appliances, for which she was rather grateful; she certainly wasn’t going to starve on her allotted budget, even if she wasn’t going to be eating like Escoffier just yet. An elevator would’ve been nice, but the king of Amber had made teasing noises about spoiling her chances for physical exercise with so much time spent sitting and studying; as it was, she’d gotten plenty of it over the last few days of the move.

Chucking the heavy parcel in her arms onto the neo-classical-style burgundy couch along with her purse, Sarah collapsed into the long cushion beside the parcel for a moment before commencing to unpack the pile of boxes that already occupied most of the room, digging for one in particular that had contents she had been saving for just this occasion… 

“Ah, _there’s_ the Precious,” she hissed like Gollum from _The Lord of the Rings_ , laughing at herself as she hauled the Chaosian black leather backpack out from under the pile of clothes she’d deliberately hidden it in… and breathed an unexpected sigh of relief that the contents had made the journey in one piece, that nothing had happened to it. Irritatedly brushing her momentary paranoia aside, she unzipped the left outer side pocket that she’d stashed the rest of Mandor’s magically infused truffles in, almost reverently extracting the small white box and carefully lifting the lid. She had only ever eaten that one the night of his wedding, and had deliberately mentally set aside two of them for her college finals if the stress got to be too much to handle, but that left one more… 

She had nearly consumed it already the night she was told of her mother’s untimely death, but somehow the thought of self-medicating away those initial feelings was surprisingly repugnant to her and she had quickly put it back, only licking the residue from her fingers – waste not – and then wound up hitting the unsweetened baking chocolate squares in the pantry, the resultant craving was so bad! Even in Mandor’s somewhat inebriated state, he had clearly formulated each of these to be exactly one dose.

Celebration, however, was another matter entirely, and speaking of which… The aroma alone was enough to make her openly salivate, that alien perfume already doing wonderful things to her head – but she forced herself to close the box. 

_Later_ , she firmly reprimanded herself; she still had plenty of things to be doing, among them finally getting this finely-crafted book carrier ready for some serious use! Setting the truffles aside on the coffee table, she proceeded to haul out the full contents of what had been weighing the thing down: arcane schoolwork, strange books mostly in a strange language (she put re-reading the Thari-language novel on her to-do list), as well as the peasanty, natural-looking leather carryall she’d used undercover in Amber – which was still serviceable, too, she mused, taking that out as well; it might even work as a large purse. The green-leather journal she had purchased in the True City had been rapidly filled cover-to-cover with her adventures, but the magically-enhanced pen had kept on scribbling on any surface it came into contact with! Sarah could never get the thing back under control without her Logrus-generated power (for that was what this item appeared to be sympathetic to), and in the end she’d wound up duct-taping the daylights out of it and then heavily taping it to the inner wall of her closet; it had been nominally free in the bag just now and was still struggling against its bindings! She’d been too embarrassed to ask Merlin about it – mainly because she hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to him alone whenever they did talk – but even at that, she reflected that she probably should’ve, and resolved to bring it up the next time he contacted her no matter what.

The enchanted object continued to flip itself around on the floor like a beached fish as she finished emptying the carryall…

And forgot to breathe for a second or two.

_Oh my gosh, how did I not remember that?!_

For below the shadow-warped, twisted ruin of that overnight bag Mandor had initially supplied her with (and she kept as a keepsake, a reminder), was Jareth’s crystal! The artifact had clearly reverted back to it’s more ‘natural’ state after such a long time, the ‘forgetting-fruit’ spell which had been active within it expired ages ago, along with her own imprint when she made it look like one of Mandor’s metal spheres. But the magic itself – the power behind it – remained; she could feel it!

But… it wasn’t quite right, she slowly realized, turning the object over again and again in her hands. It didn’t feel the same – not in a bad/malevolent way or anything, just… well… almost Patternish. She suddenly froze at the thought – and its implications.

_An imprinted power item… compatible with the Sign I now bear?!_

Carefully carrying it and the carryall into the bedroom, she sat down on the side of the bed and experimentally balanced it on her fingertips, rolling it back-and-forth over them as she had seen the Goblin King do in what felt like a different lifetime, with the mattress safely beneath just in case she dropped it… which didn’t seem would be the case – it was almost eerily physical easy to do this! _Was_ Jareth still the Goblin King, she suddenly wondered, or had he finally succeeded in escaping the grasp of the Fixed Logrus? Like many things she privately pondered anymore, there was no way of learning that, either.

_Or maybe…_

She brought the crystal up to eyelevel – remembering that he’d shown himself capable of scrying with them too, and concentrated on her memory of him, letting her eyes gently unfocus as her mind reached out…

A surge of light seared out of the object! Sarah gasped, dropping it to shield her eyes: it had become as bright as a star!

_Shit!_ She forced herself to breathe, bracing for… nothing. Nothing untoward happened. _Alright, how do I turn this stupid thing back off?_ she sighed. 

But even with her eyes closed and covered, she could still tell that the extreme luminescence had strangely shifted position, that it was even bigger and brighter than before, if that were possible. Carefully peeling her fingers away from her eyelids, which were still squinted shut as hard as they would go, she suddenly beheld a _humanoid_ form through them, like an angel without the loose robe, the form of a glowing translucent woman, whose eyes burned like blue stars!

And the Patternish feeling in the room had been amplified all the way up physical presence…

_Shit_ , Sarah observed once more. Too late to put the proverbial – and possibly literal – genie back in the bottle now. She shielded her closed eyes with her hands again, but more in the manner of a visor. “Sorry if I bothered your Eminence playing with that trinket,” she addressed the stranger in Thari, gesturing with her elbow to where she’d felt the crystal bounce on the mattress. “You can take it with you or I can destroy it if that’s what you want done here,” she tentatively tried; now she knew what unwanted attention from ‘on high’ felt like!

The epic-sized figure half-floating off the floor in front of her uttered a deep sigh that sounded – and felt – like a light, cool breeze had just blown through the room!

“Brave little shadow,” the hallowed apparition whispered in American English, “so quick to be rid of your Creatrix.”

Sarah felt the back-fingertips of an immense hand gently caress her cheek: an almost unbearable amount of mental and emotional stimuli screamed through her system at so simple a contact – colors and images and music and so much raw joy that she almost broke down and sobbed! And yet… Sarah swallowed, hauling back hard on her reactions.

“Forgive me if this is rude or anything,” she tried again, in English, “but… would you mind terribly lowering your wattage down, please? Either that or I’m gonna need some _really_ strong sunglasses to do this – I’m about to go blind here!”

To Sarah’s relief, the supernatural light receded quickly until it was just a faint glow. Uncovering and opening her eyes, it still took a minute for the ‘snow blindness’ to recede, for her vision to adjust to the much saner light-level. The uncanny translucent figure before her stood over seven feet tall, lightly muscled yet sans external genetalia, but the face, framed by long spectral hair that appeared to be slightly floating, was unmistakably feminine, so painfully beautiful that Sarah couldn’t bear to look at Her. Those unearthly irises were still shining a brilliant cobalt blue, like lit-up jewels!

“Uh – thanks,” Sarah started again awkwardly. “To what do I owe this honor, then?”

The conscious scrutiny of those eyes abruptly bore down on her like a physical weight!

“I demand your service,” the Lady’s rich alto voice enveloped the too-tiny-feeling bedroom! “You have attuned yourself to my Power and used it before this with no thought of fealty or even repayment with bodily service, which is the very least a mere shadow such as yourself could offer. I have given you your existence twice now – I saved you during the attuning because it suited my purposes to do so. You owe me your very _being_. I have come to collect what is mine.”

Sarah’s mind and pulse were both racing at this point! The full implications and possibilities made her head reel! What in the great and mighty cosmos could the Pattern Herself possibly want _her_ for?! At least She didn’t want her dead – not right away, at any rate – or she would be already, Sarah reasoned. What _was_ dead-certain, however, was the fact that she was cornered with no chance to defend herself: a mere shadow such as she was had no chance to even run like a rabbit from what was, for all practical purposes, a goddess! 

_No_ – a Power, a still-rational part of her brain corrected, surprising her; she thought momentarily of Sarilda’s Dark Lady…

“Think you the Darkness would yet save you from my Light?” the Voice boomed, shocking Sarah present – of course She could read her mind! “The Abyss saves no one, not even those who have given their all – body, mind, spark – to her work. Your original’s mother was no exception.”

It took Sarah a few seconds to truly process what had just been said to her – and when she did, her eyelids slammed closed like doors as bitter tears instantly spilled from them: if Tekla Aricline had been _killed_ , then Sarah’s mother… and Shara’s, and… it was too much to bear, too terrible to even comprehend!

The Hand again touched her face, but this time Sarah’s own tears became like a soothing rain. 

“My _sister_ has never tolerated the repeated failure of lesser beings, as I have and do,” She informed her gently. “I know not how she died, for it happened not in Order, merely that she did; her piece was removed from my lover’s game-board – an ‘accidental’ lost play by his opponent, of course.” 

Sarah’s eyes flew open, then widened. _The Pattern’s lover… Dworkin?! But that mean that Suhuy…and that stupid game?!_

“I knew you had knowledge of the nature of our reality, or I would have said nothing.” 

Was that just a hint of a smile in Her voice?! Sarah dared a fast glance upward: the smile widened. The Bright Lady was simply too beautiful to exist! 

“Fear not – I work to protect those I claim as my own.”

“Well, that’s… good to know, I guess,” Sarah allowed, slowly nodding, “but… why are you here now and not three years ago? If you don’t mind my repeated asking?”

“Nearly as brash as your original,” the breeze came again as the Lady slowly paced away three inches off the floor.

_Even her feet are perfect…_

“Yet she still withdraws from Me when I would hold her fast and rid her of the Darkness that binds her soul. But she is young, and knows not what she does.” She turned again; the room was only large enough for Her to take two full strides in one direction. “I have many rebellious offspring, little shadow, but none of them has disappointed me more than _Corwin_ ,” – She uttered that name with such deep love and profound regret. “From the moment he first set foot on my Pattern to walk Me, I knew that he was special. I orchestrated all that befell him in Order – yea, all – to forge his spirit, to sharpen his wits, to toughen his hide, to strengthen his heart. To make him king in Amber. But at the critical moment, his faith in Me failed, and he used My own power against Me in a moment of doubt, to create something monstrous. He forced me to give birth to an unwanted bastard son – a second Order which competes dangerously with my own.” She stopped and looked right at Sarah; those shining blue eyes were on fire. “He must be brought to account. _You_ have impeded Me once in this also,” she pointed accusingly, “by bringing about the destruction of my messenger before he could complete his duty – and now I must resort to something else. And for this, as well as for your undeserved imprinting, I choose to use you.”

Sarah might have had a bone to pick on one count back there, but she wasn’t about to openly argue with one of the Powers incarnate! Still, even at that, she couldn’t quite shake the oddness of her present scenario. Not that she had anything to compare her current situation to, of course, but her gut was telling her that something felt _off…_

“Alright, so even granted that I might owe you something-”

“Everything,” the larger-than-life figure insisted, arms crossed.

“… okay, have it your way,” Sarah cautiously continued, “but you still haven’t explained why you didn’t demand this ‘service’ of me any sooner. And what makes you think that I’m so qualified to do whatever-it-is you have in mind? Surely you’re aware that I wasn’t even a decent spy in Amber! Aren’t there something like a couple-dozen more of your real superman-and-woman offspring wandering around out there that would do anything for you in return for a little power and recognition?”

The temperature in the room took a sudden nosedive; Sarah’s teeth were almost chattering as frost intricately laced over the walls, the furniture!

“Do not be disrespectful of My Person, and so gain My wrath,” the Lady icily replied… but then the frost began to melt a little as she sat down beside Sarah on the mattress to the girl’s shock, barely indenting at all! There was a coolness that came from her, like the ocean in springtime. “I require you _because_ of what you are. I still feel your hesitancy. Very well – I will show you.”

She laid her perfect-yet-large translucent left hand over Sarah’s right one – 

And suddenly they were standing on a windswept mountaintop pinnacle in the middle of the night!

“D-did you just-”

“Peace, it is only a vision. Yet. Look up.”

In spite of the directive, Sarah deliberately looked all about her instead: down a little ways on the southwest side of the mountain was Castle Amber, lit up by torchlight! She’d swear to it! And far below that was the City, and the farms and the ocean-

She found her gaze jerked up forcefully, as that huge Amberite moon rose over the far eastern horizon, far beyond the sea caves and the strand, beyond Reality itself. The sky was perfectly clear (and Sarah gradually noted that she physically felt nothing, even if she was seeing slight movement about her), but as the moon slowly climbed, something spectral was beginning to take shape and form above them, out over the ocean – something large – and once the silvery disc showed her full face above the water’s edge, an unearthly and very long translucent staircase partially solidified directly before them as Tir-na Nog’th resolved into clarity like a developing photograph, fabled reflection of Amber in the Sky, the Ghost City, a perfect yet colorless copy of the True World, as Rebma was below the sea. Sarah’s knowledge of the place was admittedly scanty, for little was known of Tir-na Nog’th in Chaos, save that the place was occasionally of oracular value (although the visions one saw there could just as easily tell lies, wish-fulfilling truths, or some combination of all three), and – according to an unnamed ‘source’ (which could have only been the traitorous Prince) – a decent copy of the Pattern also lay within, unguarded by any corporal being. The little they did know was sort of a moot point, however: only those of the blood of the Unicorn – those imprinted with the Pattern – could even mount the staircase without their feet falling through the magic and moonlight from which the place was fashioned once a lunar cycle on the full of the moon. Tir-na Nog’th’s current inhabitants seemed to vary depending on the psyche of the Barimen whose eyes beheld it at the time, and even this phenomena hardly mattered from a practical point-of-view, for the ghosts could not see Substance without the direct use of the Pattern apparently, which rendered the visitor to this ethereal realm as much of a phantom to the ‘locals’ as they in turn were to the True World. Yet all that was present in the physical world below appeared to be analogous above…

“You know of this place,” the Voice at Sarah’s side uttered definitively as she stared upward, toward the shining outer walls.

“I know enough to think you’ve still got the wrong girl if you think I can go beyond that third stair made of rock – you and I related by cosmic incident alone, according to your… Lover… but not by blood.”

With a flash of heat the vision abruptly ended; Sarah blinked, dazed at suddenly being in her apartment again in mid-afternoon! The moisture still in the room instantaneously evaporated. 

“Have I _ever_ made a poor judgment?” the Lady asked with frightening hauteur, standing to her full intimidating height! “Know you another shadow-being who has set foot on Me and lived? Or one of Substance – of My blood – who can hold that which is powerful in Tir-na Nog’th in their hands, for it is less ghostly than they? Even I may not touch that which I seek to use, for it would be absorbed into Me and lost forever!”

Sarah eyed the glowing apparition really dubiously. If there was one thing she’d learned from her previous experience, it was not to trust the Powers – either of them. “Just what is it up there that you want so badly, your Eminence?” she asked levelly, standing up herself to face Her, crossing her own arms, “and why?” She fully expected to be assaulted by the elements in general for taking a stand for herself like this, but she wasn’t about to allow herself to be bullied, either!

To her complete amazement, the Bright Lady closed Her eyes momentarily. “The Dreamstone,” she breathed – there was a crystalline resonance to the words. “Corwin is currently rebelling, attempting to make himself likened even unto Me, but he is still my grandson, and at present I would bring him home to Amber. He does not come willingly, nor listen to Me, nor repent what he has done and is doing. The Dreamstone can compel him to come, to make him see the error of his ways, to restore him to Myself, to repair the needless damage he is causing Me. Therefore, I require it.” She opened the fathomless sea of Her eyes. “I need _you_.”

Sarah almost drowned in them before looking away. So… no matter what she chose to do or not do, it obviously didn’t change the fact that she had been made a playing piece on that infernal chessboard – a rook, as she recalled – and since she was still alive, she reasoned (correctly) that she must still be in-play… for Dworkin now, apparently, until further notice! She sighed, remembering Mandor’s only half-joking line about ‘fighting for the Blinding Light’ … and for the first time realized what precisely that dig was actually about!

_It’s not only the Darkness that can make it hard to see…_

Fine. But if she was going to be roped into this crazy operation, then she was getting some answers first. “Does it take a long time to climb that staircase you just showed me? Or to get around in the City, for that matter? How am I even supposed to find this thing?! Do you know where it is?”

The Lady took a decidedly deep breath, but She didn’t appear put-off by the rational questioning; that was something. “As to your first query, I know not; Time rarely obeys Me in Tir-na Nog’th – this is simply a part of its nature as a counterbalance to Substance. As for the Stone, it has no prescribed or fixed location, but this is no hindrance. All you must do is consciously seek it with your whole mind, and you will be drawn thence. The moment you lay eyes upon it, seize it – wherever it may be – and come straight back down to the mountaintop; there will be no time for idleness. None will be able to hurt or stop you; you will be perfectly safe so long as you return before the sun rises. If you follow my instructions, you may accomplish this task with ease.”

Sarah kept turning her own unease over in her mind: there was something about this that bothered her – beyond the obvious – but what was it? It was like something she couldn’t quite remember…

“Will taking _that_ artifact away from where it belongs hurt Tir-na Nog’th?”

“No, for it will be returned to its rightful place on the next full moon. Time runs slowly in Amber; there will be sufficient.”

What was it?! Sarah wracked her brain, asking more questions to buy herself time. “How am I supposed to get it out to the Argent Pattern? I’m not a good-”

She nearly crumpled like a leaf under that withering glance! 

“Do not name the aberration in My presence! I Myself will escort you for half of the distance – beyond that point My incarnated form may not journey, for my missing consciousness in Amber will begin to weaken the capital of Order. This is also why I could not attend to him, to this, as soon as I wished; my attention has been required elsewhere. I can also make the rest of the way relatively simple for you to follow. Once you have arrived, invoke the Stone and summon the prince – he then can be made to bring you both back to Amber, where I may deal with him.” 

How could she be missing this?! It was like something hidden in plain sight! “Why do you make your Pattern-ghosts capable of suffering, of pain?” she tried, thinking once again with unsettling regret on the… previous messenger; talk about unfair!

“Why not ask Me why _you_ feel pain, little shadow,” She responded gently, “or why My children seem to delight in hurting each other? A simulacrum is only as good as its reactions, would you not agree? I can assure you that one’s principal, Brand Barimen, is far beyond feeling anything at all, having consigned his soul to the Darkness and not to Me. Ask Me whether _I_ feel pain.”

She was so close, she could feel it! “What will happen to… that place, if I succeed?”

“You know perfectly well what will happen – you are merely stalling. Let us be away.” She opened Her great arms – and they were suddenly draped in a gauzy gray substance, like a robe. All of Her was. Sarah felt her body being drawn magnetically forward…

“Wait! Just answer the question! Please!”

The arms dropped to Her sides, but the grey remained. “Very well: I will absorb the renegade power and establish a tenth incarnation of My Pattern there, perfecting six shadow-copies not in Amber. All will be wiped clean. If Corwin has been rash enough to build there, his city must be destroyed, and those within that populate it, if he will not surrender them to the Change.”

There it was – Sarah had a feeling somehow that she’d just heard it without recognizing it in that last statement. Of course there was plenty of reason to object anyway. She took a fearful sliding step back, toward the door (like that was going to do her any good,) shaking her head. Grabbing the non-glowing crystal off the mattress.

“I wish I could help you – I really do – but you’re gonna have to find or make yourself another patsy to do your dirty work for you. And I know you probably don’t think like this, but as far as I’m concerned people are people are _people_ , regardless of who or what they’re made out of! So unless you’re going to just physically force me or mesmerize me or something anyway, I’m sorry, but I’m not doing it – I just _can’t_! I-”

The right translucent hand raised and Sarah suddenly found herself inside a miniaturized whirlwind… something was swirling about her counterclockwise, taking on substance and form, going faster and faster and faster until she was so dizzy that she nearly collapsed to the floor!

The movement abruptly stopped. As the room more gradually slowed in its reeling, the new figure stepped cautiously into her line of vision. 

**It was herself!**

“Sarah,” the lady addressed her in a reproving tone, “meet your fetch.”

Sarah’s eyes could’ve popped out of her head! She saw herself timidly wave ‘hi’ with a bashful little smile. She frantically searched her double up and down: there were no discernable visible differences between them at all beyond the translucency, and that was saying something because her soul was naked as a jaybird! The phantom looked back at the Bright Lady in askance – unselfconscious as Eve – yet obviously uncertain as to her current condition!

“Be thou not dismayed, wandering spirit – come, cover thyself in My power,” She smiled down benevolently upon the double, taking her into Her embrace, granting her opaque solidity before releasing her again; the eyes were even more lucid now. The fetch’s current expression made her look exactly like Sarah! Her physical counterpart was stunned.

“I must have _willing_ conscious cooperation for this,” the Lady addressed Sarah again. “I am taking a part of you with me – this much is nonnegotiable. Whether it is your body with your full intellect yet residing in it, or your soul – which is significantly more fragile, yet who will more easily obey her Maker – I leave up to you. I have no further time for this; the full moon will shortly rise in Amber. Decide.”

_Shiiiiit._ The sentiment had become the chorus of a song that she had long grown tired of. Why oh why oh _why_ couldn’t the universe just leave her alone? It wasn’t like she’d been deliberately going out of her way to piss off the Powers. Much. Recently… oh, alright, fine, maybe she did have this coming, but… _I just had to suggest coercion._ She eyed herself. Herself stared back hopefully, starting to look a little cold. _I can’t do this_ , Sarah thought irritatedly. _Not to me._

“Alright, put me back together, your Eminence,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You got me.”

Clothing from her own closet spontaneously appeared on the fetch, making Sarah jump slightly.

“It occurs to me that you are prone to worry over whether anyone on your home shadow will notice your absence like this. I believe I shall use her as your place-card holder until you return. She shares all of your memories, thoughts, and feelings if not your complete will, and upon re-merging with her you will automatically process all that has happened while you were away. Far simpler than trying to find a different shade to take your place and then relinquish it later. I swear on Myself that it shall be so.”

As much as Sarah hated the blackmail approach, she had to warily concede that the Lady might’ve been onto something there. Her parents were doubtless going to check in on her at least once, just to make sure she was settling in all right. This was going to be so hard, though, and on many different levels, her current metaphysical predicament being only one item in a veritable shopping list. Maybe there would be a way to just reason with Prince Corwin, if he was anything like _his_ ghost… she resolved to try, given any chance at all.

“Don’t you dare eat those truffles until I get back,” she teasingly warned herself, trying not to cry. “We’ll eat them together – I promise. I’ll come home just as soon as I can.”

Her fetch nodded. “I believe in you,” she whispered. It was a highly peculiar sensation, but Sarah couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of familiarity that unexpectedly washed over her, but immediately dismissed it. _Of course I’m familiar to myself!_ On instinct, though, Sarah went to touch her double’s arm, who was now wearing Sarah’s new ‘Phantom of the Opera’ tee-shirt; apparently God _did_ have a sense of humor. Or, rather, goddess…

But the Lady stopped her. “Not yet – you would fuse prematurely,” She kept them apart by what felt like anti-magnetic force! “Come,” She beckoned to Sarah, who well-noted the look of pure, euphoric devotion on her fetch’s face – for the Lady, making room for Sarah to pass by. The large cloaked arms opened again to embrace her…

“Wait a minute – are you sure you really want me to go there dressed like _this_?” She grabbed the emptied carryall off the bed and shoved the crystal into it quick before anything else could happen, shouldering it. It was all she had time for. Maybe it would come in handy.

The Bright Lady smirked – the particular iteration of the expression looked familiar, also, but for a much more obvious reason, strange as it was to think about: family resemblance.

“None will so much as sense your presence unless I will it. And your shoes are serviceable enough.”

It was true: Sarah had put on athletic sneakers that day, counting on having to do a lot of lifting and climbing with the move, and they were new enough that they still had decent tread on the soles.

_There’s obviously going to be no getting out of this_ , she thought resignedly, bravely stepping forward. Massive arms enclosed about her – it was so freaky that she could still see her dresser by the near wall, straight through that spectral body! Which was gradually beginning to take on a stronger luminescence again; Sarah shut her eyes against it. The Bright Lady of Order smelled like clean air, like fresh snow up close, yet the apparition was physically warm now, more like a _person_. The huge right hand caressed Sarah’s hair and conscious thought suddenly fled her mind: all was sweetness and gentleness and that holy Light.

“Take a deep breath,” the Voice instructed, and the girl’s body obeyed-

And the world, the Lady, and Sarah’s own physical form were sucked through a furious storm of color, sound and other stimuli, swirling and crackling all about them! She was incapable of breathing, of exhaling, of shutting her eyes, as she was assaulted by the mind-warping sensation that her own body was being stretched out, _yards_ longer than it ever should’ve been! She was too thin to live, to survive this, yet on and on and on then flew, millennia screaming by in seconds, faster than the Light-

They were standing still, the static night sky pinned above with countless pricks of light, the sounds of surf far away in the distance below. Sarah was in such a state of shock that she had yet to exhale.

The hand rested against her forehead for a moment – and she abruptly snapped out of it, gasping, blinking many times, still not quite registering where she was, her brain still too frazzled to compute it… but another stroke eased away that frission as well, as the Lady stepped back from her. In Her light Sarah beheld the three stone stairs – at the top of Mount Kolvir! It felt like waking from a nightmare! Only to find that the dream wasn’t quite over yet…

“You are obviously too frail to travel as I do,” the apparition suddenly spoke up; She illuminated the peak, the scrub foliage, like a blue lantern. “I swathed your form with My own, but the strain was still almost too much for your shadow-body to absorb. Any further travel will have to be performed physically, especially once you carry the Stone. I merely sought to shorten the first leg of your journey.”

Sarah almost didn’t hear Her: her eyes and ears still felt like they were underwater – likely from the extreme pressure changes she had just endured – but even that troubling stimuli paled to a footnote in comparison to what was gradually shaping and coming into focus a quarter-of-a-mile into the heavens directly above them, with a wavering, shimmering staircase forming before her like Jacob’s Ladder. She knew that fantastical Amberite moon had to be rising for this to be happening, but at present she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the phenomenon.

_Oh my gosh…_ Gleaming turrets, shining walkways, ghostly gardens, grand walls and halls and the City all about it. Tir-na Nog’th, city of legend even in Shadow, called Land of the Young – of the fairies – on Shadow Earth. The risers had ceased to visibly tremble, taking on a clear solidity as the rest of the panorama finished coming into focus, settling into being. Sarah hadn’t even seen this spectre the last time she’d been in the True City, having been there at the wrong time of the lunar cycle. If any sight could make a hardened skeptic believe in the supernatural, this place just might do the trick.

“It is safe to ascend now,” the Voice behind her nearly made her jump, she’d been so visually enthralled, and she automatically looked back – and had another surprise: the Lady had collapsed down to the size of a normal human woman – albeit a tall one – cloaked in Arden green, draped in a pristine white dress, Her long-flowing hair just as bleached, Her skin a flawless ivory. The irises of Her eyes were still deep-blue. “Seek the Stone and only the Stone; be not distracted by anything or anyone else. You _must_ not fail – I let you live for this very night, for this task, yet know beforehand that I would not ask this of you if I did not believe it possible for you to perform. Be careful – the City draws the unwary into deeply personal visions, and before they realize it the sun is rising to dissolve the very ground upon which they stand. I am sending you tonight while the sky is clear and the weather fair, with no clouds to make dangerous shadows or breaks in the walkway, in the streets.”

The real physical danger of the situation finally came over Sarah with all the force of a bucket of ice-water; she trembled at the sudden thought of falling miles to her death into the sea of Amber far below! There wasn’t even a guardrail on the staircase!

“N-no disrespect, your Eminence, but-”

“Go!”

No sympathy would be forthcoming from this quarter, obviously. And if she wanted to ever get back home, to say nothing of getting her soul back… She hadn’t noticed much of any difference in that department at first, but now that she was a long ways away from it a terrible hollowness had settled deep within Sarah, and it could only be from one thing. There was nothing for it. Steeling her nerves, she crossed the small distance to the rock risers and walked up the first three, staring in almost disbelief at the fourth, at what she had to do.

“Do not stare at them for too long,” she heard behind her, “and be not troubled by the distance. Concentrate on _being_ there, then on the item.”

It was better than no advice at all. Sarah took a deep breath (man, her ribs were still sore) and tentatively placed her right foot on the fourth ghostly stair. It felt solid enough… 

_One small step for a woman…_ Her left foot joined it: she was firmly standing _on_ midair, three feet off the ground! _Maybe this is going to be okay. Well, here goes nothing – come on, feet._ Shifting her gaze heavenward, Sarah bent her whole will – which had, ironically, been honed and strengthened by the ‘wrong side’ – on gaining the archway into the City at the top. The ascent was not unlike the Faiella Bionen – Stairway of Rebma – save that these risers were of even length and depth, running straight up into the night. In just a few strides she seemed to have traveled much further than should’ve been physically possible, not unlike walking up a rising escalator. Carefully increasing her pace, keeping her eyes trained on the gate, Sarah reached the City in what only seemed like a few minutes.

_But time gets screwed with here, too_ , she reminded herself as she stepped up onto the platform and through the arch, past the unseeing armored guard. Or, rather, he just didn’t see her: the whole of the Ghost City teemed with graceful, colorless spectral activity, an eerie counterpart to the life that went on far below during daylight hours, the only major difference being that the figures often appeared and disappeared, visually blurred or occluded with trailers of bright mist, right in the middle of their activities! It was as if Amber itself had a memory, and was dreaming of all who had walked its streets for business and pleasure over the long millenia of its existence. If an analogous locale had existed in Chaos (which was actually debatable, for a similar mirage _was_ visible from certain locales far from the capitol of Disorder, at a horizontal distance, way out over the Abyss, yet it was completely inaccessible, disappearing upon the direct approach) beachball-sized stars would’ve been whizzing about their heads, the black spike of the Thelbane scraping against the ceiling of the dome of the heavens! As it was, the Order-sky constellations were almost as dim as they were in Sarah’s hometown, the moon so bright and distinct that she could make out specific features with the naked eye for moments at a time; it was too intense to directly look at! She wished she still had those high-powered binoculars Mandor had let her borrow once, only with a glare-shielding filter… Mist swirled before her… and suddenly she was standing facing a section of the outer wall in front of an odd-looking telescope that stuck out over the guardrail, not unlike the standing binoculars that were installed on the Empire State Building for tourists! She was just stepping up to inspect the coin slot – _Three-obol pieces only, drat_ – when she remembered herself.

_The Dreamstone! But where?_ Sarah felt phantom hands whisk her away, guiding her along fogged-in streets, moon-drenched gleaming alleyways, past ghosts bartering goodness-knows-what, enacting all the pageantry of the living with all the reality of a black-and-white silent movie. The pervasive silence of the place was profound, as was the changing and warping of visual perspective. Silvery mists came and went, splicing up what should’ve been a straightforward hike to the Main Concourse, winding her up on Temple Street’s doppelganger instead – past the shops, past the theaters, and into one of the galleries; Sarah hadn’t ever seen this one before, and entered out of curiosity. All the art covering the walls was in grayscale also, mostly formal portraiture in here. Unknown lords and ladies stared down at her, or off into the distance, or even at each other – were the eyes moving? But not all the faces were of Amberite origin, strangely: she also saw faces she vaguely remembered from that banquet in the Ways of Sawall in what seemed like ages ago, humanesque-yet-inhuman features in so many modes of semi-modernist dress. Gilva Hendrake – a drawn sword in each hand – appeared not in an evening gown, but rather in a skimpy skintight leather armor from the neck down… or was that her skin?!

_No!_ Sarah remembered – her mind was drifting too much already! _The Dreamstone – where is it? What is it?_

The whole gallery blurred away in a silvery fog; when it cleared again, she was in a stately formal Japanese-style rock garden, its tall, lanky, kimonoed keeper carefully raking the pebbles: it could only be Prince Benedict, slowly moving photograph of Oberon’s eldest surviving son! Sarah had never laid eyes on him before, recognizing him more from his hobby than anything else (he was obsessed with Shadow Earth’s Far East), yet it seemed oddly fitting that he was in this place, for his own belief in the Unicorn was more like a self-made variant of Shinto-Buddhism. The unseen forces that propelled her blew her by him – he almost seemed to sense her in passing, pausing before continuing with his moving meditation. She jogged through two different gardens, which were simply splendid in the moonlight, lush blossoms heavily dewed in quicksilver, along a footpath that led up to the side steps, through an open doorway and into the Castle via the northwest guardroom, which unfortunately brought back some bad memories. Strangely enough, rather than seeing some poor soul trussed and jeered at, the scene that greeted her eyes was one of celebration, with many tankards raised in free drinking – and huge, muscular Prince Gérard was among the soldiers, slapping one on the back in high spirits so hard that the man nearly toppled to general laughter! 

_What in the world?_ She was practically shoved through the room and the adjacent small hallway so fast that she nearly tripped over her own feet! The pressure let up on a dime the moment she entered the Great Hall. 

A great feast was in progress here, the long trestle-tables that filled the hall seated to capacity with picturesquely-attired lords and ladies, high-ranking merchants and knights in armor and livery, festive banners draping the high ceiling, moonlight washing brightly through the row of high-set beveled windows in the western wall that overlooked the musicians’ loft, lighting up the immense marble-laden room as if it were midday! Even colorless and vaguely translucent, the sight of all that food being greedily devoured by the ghosts was enough to make Sarah hungry; the artistic medium of the place, so-to-speak, was beginning to lose its strangeness by overwhelming exposure on an immense scale. 

_I wonder…_ She’d never heard of any proscriptions against this: Sarah approached the nearest table to the left and attempted to pick up a small fruit tart that was balanced on one of the silver serving trays… but her hand passed cleanly through it! _Oh!_ The shock sort of woke her up again – it was far too easy to get sucked into this dream! 

She also belatedly realized that the moon – which had risen normally in the east – was now in the west, and sinking fast: she had to hurry! How could so much time have gone by so quickly?! Forcing herself to remain calm, she began to covertly scan about the room… then remembered that no one could see or hear her no matter what she did, and so she freely strode among them. If the artifact was here – no, it _had_ to be here! But where? 

‘Seek the Stone…’

Sarah felt her steps magnetically pulled along, forcing her to approach the slightly raised dais in the front of the Hall, near to where she had entered. The king’s table. She fully expected to see Random there – or perhaps even old Oberon, if this was a shadow of the past, perhaps one of the old king’s numerous weddings – but the figure she saw seated at the head of that table literally sent shivers down her spine…

It was Mandor! But he was dressed in neutral colors, for his finery was many shades of gray, not his usual black-and-white… and Vialle sat to his right! It was exactly as if he had become Random Barimen himself! Quickly scanning the table – which was perfectly packed with royals (some of whom she knew perfectly well to be dead), still only half-believing what she was seeing – she spotted the other end of this peculiar masquerade: Random, seated much further down the table, wearing Mandor’s cut-and-stark-non-colors (technically correct even here), with his own elder half-sister Fiona cooing in his ear! He had one of Mandor’s metal spheres in his left hand (it shone almost with its own light) and he appeared to simply be fidgeting with it – an act Sarah had never seen Mandor do – as if something on his mind was bothering him… but then he leaned over and gave his ‘wife’ a peck on the neck! Sarah quickly turned from him, not caring to see anymore of the bizarre tableau, turning her attention instead to the ‘king’. Under any other circumstances, just the sight of Mandor like that would have instantly made her nostalgic for some of their better times, but she had been put in his way for a reason here… and that reason currently hung from a heavy silver chain about his neck, the large stone mounted on it glinting and refracting the eerie light like a colorless opal. 

_Oh, for-_ she inwardly spluttered. _Of course._

She had been sent here to retrieve a shadow-copy of the Jewel of Judgment! That thought alone made her seriously pause. Even if this place would suffer no lasting harm as long as the Stone was returned punctually – which she swore she would one way or another, now that she knew – what would happen to her, to Tir-na Nog’th, right now, if she took it, as the Bright Lady believed she could? A power item was a power item no matter where it lay, influencing what was about it! Would the ghosts be able to see her, or, failing that, see the necklace apparently flying away by itself – and give chase? Running for her life from a whole city of phantoms, and who knew what else beside…

The slant of the light coming in through the windows had altered visibly even as she pondered this. There was no more time to think. The die was cast. She swallowed her misgivings and her fear and stepped right up to the outline of Mandor, grabbed the Stone with both hands, and, yanking the necklace clean over his head, turned, making a mad dash back out the way she had come in, not about to look behind until she saw a ghostly crossbow bolt fly harmlessly through her at waist-level: the entire Castle guard was bearing down upon her! She screamed and a few more arrows shot in her direction, but way off their mark.

_They still can’t see me_ , she finally realized, _but they can hear me! Now…_

Mandor’s spheres – Random’s Spheres? – figure-eighted on past her before boomeranging back to their owner, apparently useless against the threat! She briefly thought of making a stand to address them, to explain what was going on to quell the rather understandable level of panic and ire, but she quickly decided that nothing she had to say would make a lick of sense in such an alternate reality! To say nothing of the fact that she still couldn’t hear them! 

On she raced with unnatural speed, through the fog banks, through the strangely disjointed streets, the moonlight dimming and the first strands of color leaking across the eastern horizon, making the blocks of connected medieval-style housing about her waver, drilling little holes into the dream like laser beams! She had to make it to the stairs! The guarded arch at the outer wall lay ahead of her, open and inviting – but its sentry caught her by the arm this time! Black terror flooded her nervous system with epinephrine as she tried to wrench herself free of his vice-like iron grip, looking up to see-

Dworkin?! The usually-tiny hunchbacked ancient sage was a six-foot-tall, muscular, dark-haired young man in this place, the Unicorn emblazoned on the tabard he wore over a scalemail tunic! But the animal depicted was black! 

“Mind how you play the game with us this time, my little rook,” the familiar voice addressed her in Thari – he could definitely see her! “Things are not always as they seem in the world below, either. And there will be no safety net to catch you should you fall anywhere – in Amber, in Shadow, in Tir-na Nog’th! Now _hurry!_ ” 

She gave him a wide-eyed frantic nod of assent and he released her, letting her leave the City, drawing the large, heavy-looking two-handed broadsword that hung from his belt, as if to fend off her pursuers! The trailers of pre-dawn were tearing across the sky now, taking out risers at random in their wake! Sarah took them as fast as she dared – the flight was a lot narrower than the Faiella Bionen – jumping where she had to to miss the gaps, which were widening and multiplying by the second! Amber’s ocean showed through the void darkly, straight through the remaining steps, more and more clearly as the solid risers began to squish beneath her pounding feet like thick gelatin! Any minute now the whole thing would collapse, with her yet a third of the way from the ground! 

But the Bright Lady was still down there, Her angelic eyes fixed aloft on Sarah, full of loving concern. Bold as brass – as what She was – She approached the dying staircase Herself and pounded the edge of the fourth wavering stair with Her fist, the result being that all the remaining risers suddenly took on a 45-degree tilt; Sarah screamed in surprise as she lost her balance and fell backward, sliding like greased lightning down the remainder of the space, shooting off over the stone steps like a human hockey puck, tumbling to a halt against some low bushes in the grass below! The Lady was immediately at her side, concern still painting Her beautiful features!

“Are you unharmed? I would assist you to stand, but I can no longer touch you, nor directly use My power to help you, while you carry the Stone.”

Sarah slowly, sorely, sat up, gradually catching her breath as she took in the wonderful Amber sun rising steadily over that painfully blue ocean far below them, sending the sky into gorgeous spasms of pink, peach and lavender, searching for that illusive shade of cerulean-turquoise that was considered sky-blue in this place. The Lady nodded, silently handing her human companion a water canteen she must’ve produced out of nowhere, and the girl drank deep, not realizing how terribly thirsty she was until just this moment!

“It is indeed strange how few even think to take provisions with them to Tir-na Nog’th,” Sarah’s companion casually noted, seating Herself on the grass also, “almost as if they fear the dreams and symbols that wander those courts could possibly make food or drink unfit for consumption somehow. A needless superstition.”

The Ghost City, its Castle and inhabitants had already vanished like the night-vision they were; Sarah almost couldn’t bring herself to believe any of it had been real! Except for why she was here in the first place - and with Whom. 

“It didn’t seem like I was there more than fifteen, twenty minutes maybe,” Sarah mused aloud more to herself than to present company.

“You must have seen something which interested you, or you would not have been up there for so long. Here – eat,” She handed her a simple cloth sack, which contained a small loaf of wholegrain bread that smelled of honey, a think slice of a mild white cheese, and a handful of fresh blackberries. The Lady ate nothing, yet Sarah noted that she was discreetly eying the grass as if that was breakfast but she was choosing to skip it.

_She must normally graze in her… equine form_ , Sarah realized. It was a very weird thought – but then again, she’d seen weirder, she conceded, digging in. The Lady probably thought She was being polite in abstaining in front of a mere shadow-person who might not take too well to the incongruity. 

The Lady suddenly turned to her with a little smile. “You are accustomed to the idea of shapeshifters, having received your… training, in the world of the enemy,” She was quick to reprove the thought, “but such physical ‘laws’ do not apply to Me. I am visible in many forms because in truth I have none, though conscious habits may develop from the various conceits. I require nothing external to exist. And were it not for the burden that you now possess, I could easily carry you thence where you must go upon my back in my ‘equine form’, as you so quaintly think of it. As things stand, once we are clear of the Arden Forest, I will procure a vehicle for you of a type you are accustomed to driving since you have not been taught to ride any form of beast – I will not willingly pollute this place,” She added with a slightly affected air as she stood again, leading the way down the mountain by the northbound trail, with Sarah stiffly coming to her feet, stretching her legs, following in her train. The going across the crest was rugged, with lots of mid-sized rocks and rough ground foliage to navigate, soon to be supplanted by thick stands of sharply fragrant spruce as they picked their way down the mountainside. “Put it on – it may physically aid you until we achieve level ground!” the Lady called back to her; She did not have to mention what. 

Sarah had stashed the Dreamstone in the now-empty sack, and put that in the carryall; it had felt a little strange just to hold the artifact bare in her hands, and she reasoned that there was no sane purpose to advertising that she had the thing – anywhere – but the real prospect of wearing it, even for a short enough time for the activity to be reasonably safe, made her more than a little uneasy, even if she was technically attuned to its original. Still, one would assume that the Lady knew that, too – knew what she was about when it came to powers associated with Her directly… Sarah stopped walking a moment, balancing her right foot against a rock, and opened up the bag, the bundled fabric, easing out its rarified contents. Unlike the incredibly expensive-looking gold chain and setting of the true Jewel of Judgment (which was a ruby as big as a human eye), the setting of the unearthly chunk of smoothed opal was forged of pure silver, not merely sterling, and the thing still weighed a ton in her hands – which fairly tingled as she carefully slipped the chain over her head…

The moment the Stone touched her chest the whole world altered: color leached out of the landscape – still present, but severely overexposed, like a picture that had been in the sun for too many years. Creatures that looked like faeries of some kind – tree sprites, maybe – clung to the spruces that surrounded them, their skin a perfect match to the tree bark and hair like needles, black eyes blinking, curious, feral as squirrels. Everything in the distance had a certain blurry sheen beyond about twenty feet in front of her…

“Oh, stop gawkin’ already an’ just take the stupid stairs!” a gruff-yet-familiar voice addressed her – Sarah instantly looked down to her left: it was…

“Hoggle?!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are _you_ doing here?”

But it was as if the dwarf couldn’t see or hear her; he trudged along on his stubby little legs with his pump spray can of fairycide, letting the tree-sprites dumb enough to get close to him have it! Sarah’s vocal protests went completely ignored like she wasn’t even there! It was just like…

_Just like being in Tir-na Nog’th_ , she thought soberly. Closing her eyes for a couple of seconds, she opened them and looked back. The dwarf and sprites had vanished. Yet before her – if she could believe her senses at all at this point – was a gracefully curving opalescent staircase, both wide and banistered… that wound from precisely where she stood back-and-forth, all the way down to the forest floor! She deliberately closed her eyes and silently counted to ten before opening them again.

It was still there – shimmering, pristine, inviting. But better to be safe than sorry.

“Your Eminence!” she yelled through cupped hands on ahead down the trail. “What do you make of this?” She had lost sight of the Bright Lady some minutes ago, she now realized with some embarrassment; she had been too distracted by the strange phenomena to keep walking!

Her jaw practically hit the ground as she saw the Lady levitate up to the staircase’s midsection, laughing!

“Well done, little shadow!” She praised her, floating over the banister, landing neatly on the risers! “You have earned the right to continue your journey on an easier path for the time being!” 

Sarah took a deep breath and grasped the sparkling rail, walking out into the unknown.


	3. Stairway To...

Chapter 2 – Stairway to…

The supernatural risers Sarah was currently descending had literally just appeared out of the ether, yet unlike the eerie and somewhat dangerous-looking staircase that led up into Tir-na Nog’th, this one was more reassuringly opaque-white, if still pearlescent.

_Opalescent_ , she corrected herself, seeing the pale-washed sunlight glint and sparkle off of it from erratic angles, setting off different pastel colors; apparently one of the side-effects of wearing the Dreamstone outside of Tir-na Nog’th was this visual bleaching she was currently experiencing. It was not unlike wearing very strange sunglasses – knowing perfectly well what colors the world should be, and yet… She paused on one of the semi-circular landings to catch her breath; if she hadn’t already been in good cardiovascular-aerobic condition, this little marathon jaunt she was currently on would’ve certainly done it – or killed her, whichever came first. She took another swig from the canteen before starting off again, stuffing it back in her bag; it was a very good thing that she’d snagged her carryall before being snatched away from Shadow Earth! Again…

The 600-plus-feet from the top of Mount Kolvir to the dense forest floor below was likely somewhat lengthened further by the artificially graded path she now took, her epic Guide still far outpacing her; hopefully She would deign to wait for Her mortal companion once they were down in the Arden proper. The bizarrely glary lighting conditions Sarah was experiencing were beginning to cause a small amount of eyestrain, but she wasn’t about to take the Stone off until real honest-to-goodness terra firma was beneath her feet again – she had no idea what would happen to this dream of a smooth path if she did so now and figured she’d rather not find out the hard way; there were only so many possibilities, most not terribly comforting. Even at the most mundane, the rail-skinny ‘normal’ trail far below them would have required a very experienced horseman to pick their way down, the going was so steep and rocky near the summit. It simply wasn’t worth the considerable risk, even in spite of the irritating small tricks her vision kept playing on her; the longer she wore it, she gradually came to realize that the artifact had to take cues from the wearer’s subconscious (or even unconscious) mind:   more faeries of varying descriptions kept appearing and disappearing at random about the trees, even in the air in front of her; a large boulder had abruptly formed a face, but when it saw her and moved its great, heavy granite jaw to speak no audible sound was produced; a dark, misshapen creature wearing dingy-rusty armor dashed by in the undergrowth so fast that she had nearly missed seeing it, yet instinctively knew what it was supposed to be… Even in the absence of Sarah’s Fixed Logrus imprinting, it was like she had developed a kind of psychic scar-tissue from where it had been removed, for the remnants of the Labyrinth were still present ‘in there’.   But there were other odd sights as well, ones in which she wasn’t entirely sure what was the work of her mind and what was not: she thought she’d spotted a green-and-black striped tiger perched up in an enormous oak tree not fifty feet from where she was, taking a nap!

However, one of the ‘sights’ on the way down that Sarah did _not_ doubt her senses on was the long marble mausoleum and cenotaph erected to Prince Corwin. Even knowing that he yet lived – at least she hoped he was still breathing and being witty and scarily skilled somewhere off in Shadow – the sight of that tomb carved with his first name so prominently displayed, the monument half-buried in weeds and overgrowing ivy, beginning to erode with time – was enough to send a chill down her spine. It was a somber reminder that even the near-immortal could still die, and two marble benches stood at the ready just outside of it, as if to accommodate the curious pilgrim while he or she contemplated this precise fact… and they were in excellent company, if rumor was to be believed: the prince himself was said to come up here and get plastered on rare occasion! Whether or not the rumor was true, the evidence for _someone_ doing it was there: shards of glass bottles glittered brightly up at her from the entrance. Sarah chose to believe – the idea fit well enough with what she knew of the errant prince’s morbidly quirky sense of humor. That and the simple yet telling fact that most of the entertaining gossip that filtered to the Courts from Amber via the old spy system seemed to almost always feature the prince somehow (at least it had seemed that way from the scraps of information Mandor and Suhuy used to drop during her tenure on the far side of existence): either Chaos was seriously worried about what the man might portend or otherwise be capable of, or else the initial contact thought he was funny for a Patterner and kept sending home good stories. Probably both.

Sarah also had the distinctly creepy feeling that the serpentlike creatures she kept spotting up in the understory canopy coiled around the branches of those massive old-growth trees were real, too; practically any time she felt watched all she had to do was visually follow the direction of the sensation to be met with golden or jade or even lavender slit-pupilled reptilian eyes, staring down at her like she was breakfast! Again she found herself wishing that the Bright Lady was not so far ahead – there She went around the turn, a flash of a light-green hood and a white hand four flights down – then reminded herself that a Power didn’t have to wait for anyone.   To her human sensibilities it still seemed a little strange, though, considering the dangerous fauna that might or might not be scattered about them in the Forest. Was she _really_ -

A blue-feathered serpent larger than an anaconda took its chances and dropped onto the staircase right in front of Sarah! At least that’s what the creature had meant to do – what really happened was that it fell straight through the shimmering risers to the forest floor below with a muffled thud and ceased to move; it had all happened so quickly that Sarah hadn’t even had the time to scream in alarm! Shaking all over, she tentatively put one foot onto the next riser:   it held, same as all the rest.

She continued on at a sprint, taking them two at a time where possible, determined not to wait around to become snake food – that had been too close! The Logrus of course no longer aided her bodily strength, but the psychological side of Sarah’s physical conditioning aided her in subliminating her natural, instinctual fear clear out of existence in seconds flat. Perhaps the Lady was hurrying her along with purpose after all… In spite of the warm season yet being upon the True World, the morning was still rather brisk out here; Sarah was only consciously noticing the natural temperature just now – perhaps it had more to do with the fact that they were gradually lowering into the Forest proper, where it was usually about ten-to-fifteen Fahrenheit degrees cooler than the world surrounding it all the time, save in winter when it was slightly warmer. It was surprisingly easy for her to lose track of what her current external conditions really were, with all of her stimuli currently muffled like it was:   the world was a cotton-candy colored dream straight out of Willy Wonka, everything a pastel of what it should’ve been, glittering mists flowing in and receding back in ambient waves, like a ‘marine layer’ from some unfathomable mythic shore…

An hour and several hundred steps later, the forest floor was within reach: the opalescent staircase terminated with a pair of gaudily-carved banister ornaments – busts of unicorns, to scale! The Lady seemed pleased with them as She stood there at the base, waiting for Sarah to disembark. The girl slowed, catching her breath, and heavily jogged down the last few risers, then just stood there, panting, resting her palms on her thighs for a moment as she recovered herself. The Dreamstone swung like a pendulum with her leaning forward like that; Sarah caught the Lady’s unusually intense scrutiny of the object. Greedy, almost…

“Even though it has not the power of its original, best not to wear it for too long,” She suddenly admonished her.

Straightening up again with an affirmative nod, Sarah raised the hefty chain up over her head ever-so-carefully –

Deep colors, dark lighting conditions, and rich forest fragrances suddenly assaulted her senses the very moment the necklace was off! The shockingly abrupt change in stimuli threw her for a second – although admittedly not as long as it would’ve thrown a normal human, whose nervous system had not been accustomed to both shadow-travel as well as Chaos-spectrum.   She readjusted quickly enough as she wrapped the Stone-and-chain back in the material sack, stashing it in her carryall. She also noted that the Lady’s more normal disinterested level of hauteur had reasserted itself; without a word, She struck out again, following no trail, yet true as compass and with a perfect confidence that superceded faith. Even on relatively level ground, Sarah found Her hard to keep pace with; the Lady’s stride was long and quick due to her height alone even in this form.  

And wow did She ever seem like Mother Nature, Lady of the Forest incarnate out here in Her green cloak; She required no diadem or indeed any other outward mark to set Her apart as who She really was, as far as Sarah was concerned. After a time, She began to point out various species to the girl; to Sarah’s small comfort, the green tigers turned out to be real, too, but even for a human visitor they tended to be more languid in the early-to-mid-morning, being largely nocturnal hunters. Small, green dragonlike creatures flitted and soared short distances below the rainforest-thick canopy, roughly calling to one another like the birds they were distantly related to, as brightly-colored feathered serpents in a rainbow of hues sparsely decorated the tree limbs or hunted small prey on the forest floor. The Lady was quick to teach Sarah how to differentiate the poisonous ones from the constrictors – ostensibly for her future knowledge, for when she would come back this way at the end of her quest – but from the quiet urgency the Lady could not entirely train out of Her voice, Sarah had to wonder. Her Companion even plucked a young constrictor with iridescent cobalt feathers – like Her eyes – from a low branch and draped him over Her shoulders for a time like an ornament, showing Sarah how to stroke him!

“Many of these constrictor species actually enjoy tactile stimulation such as this,” She explained, “even as full-grown adults. There are Amberites yet living who have saved their lives by knowing this, using it to their advantage when only mildly snared by one. But it would be unwise of you to over-tempt a creature of even _this_ size – observe.” The Lady clearly had the strength to spare, but it obviously took a considerable amount of it to pry him back off of Her again; gently placing him upon the ground at the base of another tree, the serpent glided up and around the bole like quicksilver, coming back around to the front to flick his tongue out, sniffing them as they walked away.

The exotic big cats and reptiles seemed to favor the Mountain; they were soon replaced with much more mundane species by Shadow Earth standards, the canopy gradually filling with songbirds and small, furry arboreal rodents instead. A female deer suddenly bounded by ahead of them, followed by two adolescent males, their stubbed velvet-covered horns still growing in.   Bright-red foxes with unnervingly intelligent eyes peered out at them from their hidden vantage points in the thick undergrowth. Rays of golden sunlight picked through the leaves in thin, stringlike shafts. The entire place had an almost holy feeling to it, even the parts that felt dangerous to her – more of a wild, pagan version of holiness that cared not a jot for civilized, over-evolved Mankind.   And yet it was rather compelling all the same in a strange, bittersweet way. The strongly pervasive resinous scent of enormous pine, ancient maple, and gold-tinged oaks certainly incensed the air adequately for the analogy, a precious few old souls easily as tall as giant sequoia; the Lady paused to touch these ones’ boles in passing, encouraging Her young human companion to do the same, showing her how to draw physical strength from them to refresh her own.

“Only take a little from each one, and be careful to give out feelings of honest thanks in return,” She cautioned. “You must yet respect them; they have been here since the dawn of Time, these the first of My mother-trees - and they will long outlive you also.”

A little further on in a small idyllic gladed clearing off to their right, a small, bright patch of pure-white caught Sarah’s eye: it was the cutest little bunny-rabbit she had ever seen in her entire life!

“Look!” she whispered, not wanting to startle it, pointing.

The Lady’s own reaction was not one of joy, but rather an oddly muted interest; she caught Sarah’s arm tightly, keeping her from sneaking any closer. The girl’s glance back of surprised confusion was met with one of stern warning…and a small lip-smile.

“She is stalking prey,” the Lady murmured, pointing also – to a _fawn_ Sarah had failed to spot initially, grazing in the nicely cool morning shade of the glade! Sarah could scarcely believe what she was seeing as Fluffy crept up closer and closer from behind, until it was only five feet away from the creature: without any warning at all, the rabbit silently made a massive jump into the air and landed on the fawn’s back, sinking its razor-sharp incisors into its victim’s neck! The fawn seemed to be instantly paralyzed, frozen terror marring its innocent features, as it simply fell over on its side, stiff as a board! Fluffy commenced her gory feast!

Sarah just stared in dumb shock – and the Lady seemed satisfied, gently pulling her onward once more. “That was awful!” she openly exclaimed, sounding as if she were about to cry. “How does that not even _bother_ You?!”

The Lady didn’t so much as spare her a glance, yet released her arm as She kept on walking. “The deer eat the shoots of all the young trees as fast as they develop,” she explained. “If too many of the animals live to adulthood, the Forest itself can become stunted for decades in certain areas. All life must be balanced in order for it to thrive; you know this,” She concluded reprovingly.

_It doesn’t make it any less cruel_ , Sarah thought indignantly, plodding along behind Her, not caring that She could probably hear her anyway.

Cresting a small hill, their way met up with a well-worn thin trail, and to Sarah’s surprise the Lady took it, veering them slightly off-course from true north, yet still headed in a generally northerly direction. Pausing for a moment, She seemed to listen for something, giving the wind an animalistic sniff like a horse might, then turning and signing Sarah silent before continuing on. Strange behavior for an all-powerful goddess, Sarah thought again; why was She so…

The thought died instantly at the sight of the lounging manticore only half-hidden in the undergrowth not a hundred feet from where they were!

_A real one!_ Sarah thought in alarm – not one of those outrageous robots she had seen before, but an actual living beast with a legendarily voracious appetite! And she had to admit that it _did_ have a certain smell… then she remembered herself and quieted her breathing, tiptoeing on after her perfectly silent Guide. Thankfully the creature was still preoccupied with ripping asunder and devouring the remains of other fresh prey and paid them no heed.

Was this the real reason the Lady had refused to summon any kind of mount for them to ride, even to save time? Lack of stealth, on a number of levels? The more Sarah thought about it, the more certain parts of the prospect seemed increasingly bizarre.   If none could sense them unless it was willed so, then why the elaborate evasive maneuvers? Did it have to do with Her not being able to directly use Her power on Sarah now, because of the Stone? And if this was the case, then why did She even bother to tell her all that in the first place?

Unless parts of what she’d been told were an outright _lie_ …

A hunting horn intruded on her thought – Prince Julian! The Forest of Arden had been, for all practical purposes, his private domain ever since the ill-fated ‘regency’ of Prince Eric, and King Random had allowed him to stay out here, ostensibly to patrol the borders for dangerous shadow-beasts since the man was already a passionate adept at big-game sport hunting, but really to keep him just far enough from Amber-proper to keep the two half-brothers from dangerously getting on each others’ nerves. The grandsons of Dworkin Barimen and the strange, beautiful creature Sarah was currently pursuing were not unlike Japanese Fighting Fish when forced to spend too much time in close quarters with one another, even if they could maintain good terms at a distance.

_No, like those green tigers_ , she thought, remembering how ridiculously territorial the adult males could be on Shadow Earth, not wanting another male about for miles in any direc-

The horn’s silvery notes sounded again from much closer, followed by the gradually increasing sounds of barking and baying hounds… his Hellhounds! Sarah involuntarily shivered: there was something about a canine hybrid that could strip and chew up chrome from a moving automobile! Gracious, did _that_ bring back bad memories of a different sort of ‘animal’!

The Lady froze in her tracks – then abruptly vanished into thin air!

“Climb _that_ maple!   Quickly!” Her disembodied voice barked in Sarah’s ear! The girl was too nervous to question the order and scarcely even thought to notice the boost she got, elevating her up to the first strong branches, climbing higher and higher, trying to get out of sight, feeling a sinking dread for what she felt sure was coming!

The hounds cleared the ridge; she counted about forty or so of them! True to the reports, they resembled nothing so much as a monstrous pack of wolves interbred with alien greyhounds as they ran at full speed into the clearing where Sarah and the Lady had been only moments earlier… but it looked so strange: it was as if they were trying to attack something none of them could see, yet still sensed some other way…

Were they after the Lady?!   Even more astounding was the result:   several of them fell about convulsing as if they had been hit with high voltage! More literally flew to bits on the other side, and others still foamed at the mouth, attacking their fellows senselessly, clearly crazed out of their wits!   And yet more and more kept on coming – and by the changing sound, horsemen were approaching, too! Some of the new-come beasts dark coats were quickly singed with a pale-green fire… green?!

_Ohmygosh…_ No wonder it had seemed so itchingly familiar to Sarah: those were Chaosian defensive spells for use against a biologically-based physical attacker!   She’d be prepared to swear to it!   She’d wager her life that she was right at this moment!

The figure that rematerialized was definitely _not_ the Lady – what the hell was it?! The genderless flameform burned just like Mandor could, very tall and elongated, almost partially feline in shape, but the incindation was a brilliant violet, not the familiar green! Only those impossibly cobalt-blue eyes remained, glowing – they burned straight up at Sarah!

“I must draw them off to give you a chance to escape!” the Voice crackled and boomed at her, still in English! “You know what you must do!   My Pattern granted you sufficient power before – _use_ it! Do not even _think_ of failing Me, of returning here without him! Serve Me well and be richly rewarded for the remainder of your natural lifetime!”

The figure shifted and flowed like lava before her very eyes, turning into a gigantic demonic-looking black ram the size of a horse with blazing eyes, before shooting off into the forest, striking sparks high from its cloven hooves, making the grasses smoke and smolder in its wake while the remaining hale Hellhounds gave chase with their characteristic supernatural speed, heedless of their fallen!

The Lady – whatever She was – had missed the hunters by mere seconds: five mounted riders, four wearing the prince’s tabard over their scalemail – a leaf-bare white tree on a field of black – swiftly galloped down to the ruined hounds; three of them immediately set off to follow the fresh tracks, but two stayed behind, one of them spearing the remaining struggling animals, ending their suffering. His companion looked much younger, almost too young to even be in the party, and neither was the youth uniformed. The back of a long fitted-and-belted white-enamel-baked scalemail jerkin gleamed up at Sarah, along with carefully tied back sable hair…

“With all due respect, Mistress, we should be returning to camp,” the older man addressed the youth. “The prince would not want you chasing a quarry as dangerous as _that_ ,” he pointed with his bloodied spear off into the distance; bits of the foliage had been charred as well!

But the girl tossed her dark-haired head defiantly. “Father still coddles me as if this world were yet new to me!” she petulantly exclaimed.   “What beast thinks he I cannot yet handle? I have delivered the death-blow to manticora!”

“That is no manticore and you know it,” the man warned direly, turning back to face her.   “Forgive me for having to say this, Mistress, but the hounds know Chaosian fireblood when they _smell_ it; the constant smell of their Master about you is all that keeps some of them from turning on _you_! There are still too many animals yet living that were trained to attack only a certain breed of foot soldier in the War to brush this incident aside as a fluke – you saw how they responded at the merest whiff. Look about us, how many were killed! All the evidence is here; whatever it portends, may it not threaten the Concord!”

Sarah had first suspected, but now she was certain: it was Sarilda Barimen! That had to be her original down there! She crouched down, leaning in closer on the branch she clung to for a better look.

“You should probably go and join the others, then; they will need every last man they can get if they can get close at all,” the girl replied. “I wish to search for clues here before returning – even with my hands ‘tied’, so-to-speak, I can still _feel_ the Power, discern its forms – and I would accomplish this work best alone. I may be able to find some identifying trace here that you all would be blind to otherwise, while the deployed spells used are yet fresh in the environs. If you hurry you might still catch the hunt.”

“Mistress, you know my orders-”

“Oh, _hang_ your orders, Sir Dravin!” she snapped haughtily. “I am fourteen and no longer a child! And soon will I be a Duchess of Amber! I know enough to not harm myself out here, and unlike _her_ – yes, I can tell it is a female they are tracking, even from up here in my saddle – I cannot ever escape to true freedom in Shadow; you yourself have witnessed my… _shackles_ ,” she glanced down at herself ruefully for a moment.   “If you see Father, tell him I won’t be long – yes, I _know_ , he will be angry with me,” she sighed, partially deflating. “One would think that he would be used to me by now… oh, don’t be like that; I’m not sending you away because I dislike you,” she sidled up to the irritated knight.   “I still need your protection from those pigs of men in his camp,” she rolled her eyes, “just not here. You can mention that, too,” she smirked.   “And I can tell you positively that whatever she was trying to do here, she won’t come back this way – she had no intention to. I can tell.”

The middle-aged, fair-haired knight held her bright-green eyes for a moment, then smirked conspiratorially himself with a quiet chuckle, nodding.

“Let me survive your adolescence, please Sarilda?” he flirted with her, then gave an order to his steed and charged away down the blackened path, leaving her alone with the corpses of the Hellhounds.

Sarah watched as her still-younger original nimbly dismounted, leading her grey horse away from the carnage and giving her the command to stay, rather like one would a dog; the beautiful Arabian immediately knelt where it was, sitting down before nibbling at the grasses! Her rider retrieved a crossbow with a handful of bolts and a long hunting knife from her saddlebag before returning to the scene of the slaughter, scrutinizing the ground, tracing little ciphers into it with the tip of her blade, watching the marks alter on their own. She carefully bled one of each of the differently-killed hounds that were still intact enough to do so, working more sigils with the blood, with their hides – all ‘passive’ rites, just to see the resultant reactions, like an occult ‘science experiment’; there were more than a few distinct results, one of which was a small momentary combustion of violet flame! Once she had completed this, she studied the entrails of the exploded animals; she was, in fact, finding more than a few links in the chain, so-to-speak.   But…

She suddenly froze where she was crouched, then smoothly readied a bolt to the crossbow – and spun around with Sarah in her sights, prepared to fire!

“No! Don’t shoot, Sarilda, _please!_ ” her shadow-self screamed in alarm – in English by mistake! _Damn!_ Sarah rapidly spit out the phrase again in Thari, adding, “It’s me, Sarah!”

Sarilda dubiously stalked over to the base of the maple, her weapon still raised and ready.

“ _Who_ did you say you were?” she peered up into the darkness of the thick leaves.

“Sarah Williams, you know, the shadow of yours that’s stupid enough to risk my neck for yours when you would’ve killed me without a second thought! The one you dragged with you through the blasted Jewel of Judgment after I gave you the power to protect yourself! The one you tried to trip at your own sentencing after I testified favorably on your behalf, you little brat!” She suddenly laughed in spite of herself. “I can’t believe it, but I’m actually sort of glad to see you.   Although I’d be happier if you weren’t pointing that thing at me.”

“Sarah! Is it truly you? What in the worlds are you _doing_ here?!”

“We ask each other that question way too often,” Sarah answered levelly, “but I’d rather try to explain it face-to-face than shouting from up here so goodness-knows-what-else can hear, too. Permission to come down without being shot to death?”

Sarilda put down the crossbow and whistled over her horse. “I take it you had help getting up there,” she called up a bit tersely as Sarah gingerly picked her footholds; this had been a lot easier in the other direction! “The sheer drop at the end could injure you. Try not to fall anyway, but aim for the saddle,” she held her mount steady by the reins.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sarah balked, inching her way around the thick bole. “Are you talking about landing astride or standing?!”

“Standing, you ninny – your bones are too fragile; you’d break your pelvis! And what in Amber are those shoes?!” she laughed, finally getting a good look at what Sarah was wearing!

“Better than those stiff boots,” Sarah ground out, preparing for the circus-like dismount: taking a deep breath, she let go and fell the remaining three-and-a-half feet to the saddle, windmilling her arms wildly to keep her balance before grabbing the trunk in front of her, catching her breath, while the horse danced a bit, startled, voicing an ear-piercingly high whinny!

“Easy there, Banshee, steady girl,” Sarilda calmed her; Sarah crouched where she was and awkwardly let herself down off the side of the horse while her original disarmed and repacked the crossbow and knife in the saddlebag, warily eying Sarah with a rather high level of suspicion.

“I know, I came in with really bad company, but I swear I didn’t know until you did – damn, she was good at that act!”

“What act?” Sarilda pressed dubiously. “You’d better let me in on what happened to you, telling me being in your best interests for survival at the moment. There’s still a price on your head in the City like there is for any other Chaosian spy who’s stupid enough to be caught and positively identified.” She suddenly smiled seriously. “If I were to incapacitate you and turn you over to Uncle Random, I could collect it myself; the reward isn’t shabby, considering that he’s in on the ruse.”

Under any other circumstances, Sarah would have been highly frightened by an idea like that, but in reality such an interview might actually serve her rather well, with the way things were beginning to look… except that she had no idea what the king would be forced to do, should she be ‘captured’ so publicly. Jail her for the remainder of her life at least, more probably execute her. Even in desperation, that avenue was closed.

“If you’ve got information to offer against your personal safety, you’d better ‘fess up now,” Sarilda crossed her arms lightly against the scalemail jerkin; any more armor would’ve been too heavy for her lithe, still-growing form.

_Black-and-white,_ Sarah distractedly thought for a second, looking down slightly at her original:   the tight-fitted cotton shirt and riding trousers that she wore beneath the partial maille suit were both black, as were her knee-high leather riding boots, and she also sported a white cape which was clasped to the shoulders of the armor with steel ornaments made to look like clutched falcon talons. _Why is it always black-and-white_? Sarah exhaled. It was obviously cards-on-the-table time, whether she liked it or not. And she certainly did not appreciate being threatened like this, either. Still…

“If I show you this, you’re going to have to swear up and down that you’re not going to try to touch it – I honestly have no idea what would happen to it if you do.”

Sarilda’s thin, dark eyebrows raised. “It’s that serious?”

Sarah nodded solemnly.

Her original paused for a moment, but easily conceded, closing her eyes. “I so swear by She whom I carry about with me until His Exalted Excellency King Merlin releases me from Her grasp.” She opened them again. “That good enough?” she fired back a little saucily.

_Yeah, this is going to be a barrel of fun_, Sarah thought, furtively glancing about to make certain that they were actually alone. Swallowing, she extracted her ill-gotten prize for her original’s perusal, watching the girl’s jaw drop as her eyes bulged in disbelief.

“By the Dark Lady!   However did you come by that?   Where did you even _find_ it?!” she anxiously pressed.

“Would you believe Tir-na Nog’th? I snatched it straight off the phantom king’s neck,” Sarah carefully answered; it was technically correct.

“But how – _oh…_ ” Sarilda answered her own question. “I suppose the pertinent question would be how did _she_ know.   I never even knew that item existed; I think even my mother doesn’t know of this, or she would’ve told me. We knew of the copy in Rebma, but it was too closely… Sarah, what is it? What’s wrong?” she noted her elder shadow-self’s sudden deep grief; it almost looked unnervingly like guilt.

Sarah put the Dreamstone away before anything could happen to it. She couldn’t look her younger-self in the eye.

“Sarilda… I don’t know how to… tell you this, but-”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare!” the girl snapped defensively, instinctively frightened. “I yet have enough Chaos blood left in me to know when I’m about to be lied to!”

“My mother’s dead, too, thanks for asking!” Sarah snapped back at her. “I thought you might want to know so you could _grieve_ her properly!”

“Who told you this lie?” Sarilda pressed through gritted teeth, advancing on her menacingly.

“Her,” Sarah glanced back at the dead hounds. “Even now – maybe especially now – I figure she’d know, if she’s really working for Chaos.   In which event, I am really and truly royally screwed here on top of everything else.”

Sarilda stared away numbly – silent for almost two minutes – before abruptly remounting her horse, holding her right hand down to Sarah; she gave a hoarse, bitter-sounding laugh.

“Dworkin named you rightly, Shadow: a rook indeed – a bird of ill-tidings, omens, and suspect council.   You are what you are. Get on, then, behind me.”

“I don’t know how to ride!”

“Just hang onto me and don’t fall off! How hard is that?” she chided her, roughly helping her climb up behind her in the saddle; it was a tight squeeze. Lightly digging her heels into the stirrups, they were off at a rather quick canter that was just this side of a full gallop – it would be if she gave Banshee anymore head; the horse seemed a natural racer!

“Where are you taking me?”

“You really are a lousy spy if you missed hearing all _that_!” Sarilda called over her shoulder at her.   “Back to my father’s camp, of course – I’ll have to sneak you in. I’ll bet you even missed Sir Dravin putting on his best move!”

“You – you and that _guy_?! You can’t be serious! He looks old enough to be your father!”

“He is at that!”   Sarilda unexpectedly laughed. “I think my presence there is becoming something of a deadly trial for Father’s men. Dravin’s all right, though; he looks, but he’d resign his post before daring to so much as kiss me on the cheek. Although the reason I know is because he’s joked about _doing_ it once…”

Sarilda couldn’t see it, but Sarah just shook her head. The kid knew perfectly well that she was playing with fire, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself, too thoroughly enjoying the power she wielded to think of the potential consequences of its use. Her elder-and-wiser self sincerely hoped those consequences would never get to be too serious, too out-of-hand. Too lasting – for both their sakes! _There_ was an odd thought!

On they rode westward through the Forest, green upon green after green flying by around them, the sounds of the birds, the pervasive smell of life, getting a little humid, actually – hopefully the weather would hold. Sarah hoped upon hope that Sarilda had any inkling at all of what she was about here, or else she was about to be literally delivered into the midst of an armed camp that would be none too pleased to see her! Julian would recognize her in an instant! Soon enough there were canvas tents on the horizon.

“Hide yourself as best you can under my cape,” Sarilda instructed Sarah, “I’m going to try something.”

Feeling very dubious about this, Sarah did as she was bade, scrunching down as far as she could go under the warm, fine fabric; whatever ruse this was, she hoped it wouldn’t last too long – she had only just assumed the odd posture and her back was already killing her from it, and it was sort of suffocating in there besides! Not being able to see, she could only hear and feel when Sarilda slowed, reaching what must’ve been the sentry checkpoint to enter…

And almost leapt out of her skin at the sight of the huge, black, anaconda-like coils of the Logrus constricting about the thin torso she’d been clutching and crunched against for dear life! It was far closer quarters than she had ever wanted to share with Her presence again, and from the exuded feelings of general savage animosity pointedly directed back at Sarah the sentiment still appeared to be mutual, but there was nothing that she could do about it at present! She could feel Sarilda’s body suddenly clench in a spasm as if she were in pain – and it belatedly dawned on her that she couldn’t hear a single word that had to be being exchanged out there! She couldn’t hear anything! Moments later, those ominous coils visibly relaxed – Sarah could swear she had felt the Serpent laugh, a genuinely spooky, alien sort of response – and Sarilda panted in relief as the world audibly switched on around them again.

“I’m going to use the back shortcut to get to Father’s cabin,” Sarilda whispered. “Hold tight just a little longer.”

Sarah did her best to neither breathe nor asphyxiate while scrunched into a position which she was quickly becoming convinced that it would take a medical crew to unpack her vertebrae from, but at last the horse stopped moving and her original dismounted over her.

“This way – hurry!”   Sarilda held out her arms to catch her – and it was a good thing she did because Sarah literally fell into them!   Limping sorely, unable to straighten out her back, Sarah let her younger self rush her out of what appeared to be a private stables for only two horses – hers and the prince’s legendary Valkyrie mount, the Morgenstern, who was thankfully out still with his master; the beast had always hated Sarilda, seeing her as a recent interloper and unfair competition for both Julian’s attention and affection! They ran through the thick wooden back door, down a long hallway – polished hardwood everywhere, sparse masculine decoration – up a flight of stairs, down another tighter hallway and into a bedroom. Her bedroom; it had to be. The square footage was modest, yet more spacious that even the ‘guest apartment’ that Mandor had set up Sarah in – sans the attached modern bathroom, of course: there was a washstand with a basin and pitcher instead (obviously no running water here – she shouldn’t have been surprised.) There were notably no windows; the only current light came from a smoldering fireplace. The furnishings in here were all natural, and yet there was something undeniably dark about the décor in the girl’s room: various small, painstakingly reconstructed animal skeletons artfully graced the top of a bookshelf, bright snake-feathers accented saurian-leather pillows and wall hangings, to say nothing of the black volcanic stone fireplace that had to have been imported from Shadow. The rugs covering the smooth hard floor were black furs; even the bedspread was one, although it was far thicker and shaggier – Sarah had a hard time even imagining what kind of beast it could’ve been made from!

Sarilda both closed and locked the door, dropping the simple iron bolt into place, physically sagging in relief.

“What did you _do_ back there?” Sarah spread herself out onto one of the floor rugs, they looked so inviting – gracious it was soft! – and proceeded to try to stretch out the kinks in her spine.

Sarilda crossed the room and promptly plopped down on the bed face-first, then rolled over onto her side. “I made it so the guard on duty wouldn’t see you – just a minor bit of magic-based hypnotism, really; fairly harmless even for the ‘victim’, easy to work under natural circumstances.   But you wouldn’t begin to believe just how difficult it was for me to pull that off,” she rubbed her ribs as if they were sore, then sat up and removed her cape and the hefty layer of scale armor, laying them out flat on a trunk beside the bed on the right-side.  

“Oh, somehow I believe it,” Sarah sat up stiffly herself. “Any chance of a ‘water-closet’ being in here?”

Sarilda’s outline pointed beneath the bed. A chamber pot.

“I was afraid of that,” Sarah sighed. “Should’ve just gone in the woods.”

“She _was_ in great haste, wasn’t she?” Sarilda had to smile. “All right, I won’t ask for the whole story right this second. You go ahead; I’ll see if I can put together a couple meals’ worth of rations for you – it won’t be safe to try to move you out again until well after nightfall. If it was just up to me, I’d offer you sanctuary for as long as you need to figure out what to do, but somehow I don’t think my father will take too kindly to the idea of me suddenly having an older twin sister; he wasn’t so keen on the idea of having _me_ ,” she grinned deviously – then had a sudden thought.   “You’d better change out of that fancy blouse and put on one of mine; most of my regular clothes are here in this trunk,” she got up and took a rush-light to the embers, lighting the candles on the nightstand with it before casting the remains of the primitive match onto the fireplace. “The hounds don’t take too kindly to strangers, either, and we keep a couple in the house sometimes, Cú Chulainn and Lily – guess which one’s mine?” she smirked, crossing the room to the door. “You’ll probably be safer if you cloak yourself in my scent,” she undid the deadbolt, turning the handle-

Only to hear the front door fly open so hard it hit the wall!

“ **Sarilda!**   Are you here?!”

It was the prince!

“Be back soon! Get under the bed when you’re finished!” the girl frantically whispered, darting out and closing the door, dashing down the hall, down the stairs, all of her booted footfalls echoing clearly off all those hardwood floors!

At least they didn’t creak.   But that _didn’t_ necessarily mean that…

_Oh, man…_ Sarah inched her way across the floor as slowly as she could physically stand, toward relief, terrified of accidentally making any noise that could be heard from below…

* * *

 

Prince Julian had originally meant to stand his ground before his hearth, pacing like one of his hounds before the large downstairs fireplace, and from there roundly scold his daughter for recklessly disobeying him yet again, but his temper got the better of him this time, making him so impatient to face her that he was willing to go wherever she was in the house, if she was here at all. Even though he had only paced to the foot of the main staircase, she still seemed unduly shocked to see him standing there when she turned the corner on the risers, on the halfway landing.

“Am I truly become so predicable, my daughter?” he addressed her coolly; his diction gave him away anyway – it became thicker than usual when he was upset. “May I not freely move about my own house?”

Sarilda forced her nerves to come to rein, casually descending the rest of the demi-flight to the floor. “I thought you preferred the staging of the living room,” she replied every bit as coolly. “At least it seems a little more mytho-stereotypically cultural for a father-figure. Did you catch your quarry?” she sidled past him as if no conversation could be more normal.

This had become too normal for Julian; he caught her firmly by the forearm. “You have not the strength of a full-blooded Amberite to rely upon-”

“And you hate that within me which is Chaosian for any number of rationally suitable reasons – which is it to be today?”

“Stop!” It took all of his willpower to keep from striking her across that chronically impudent mouth of hers! “Do you have any idea how much danger you nearly stepped into today? And _without_ your assigned body guard, who I am putting on extended leave over this outrage?”

“But you _can’t_ disgrace Dravin – he’s too loyal to you!”

“He has become far more loyal to _you_ , my dear,” the prince took on a stern tone of warning, “and I like not the look that comes into his eyes of late when I send him out on duty with you.”

“If a mere look is all that would offend my honor in your eyes, then you would have to publicly besmirch a full third of your squadron! I am nearly a grown woman now – are they all to be punished for not being blind?”

“Do not tempt me,” he ended quietly, “or them.” He released her.

Sarilda stalked resignedly into the main room, seating herself in one of the leather-and-antler chairs, crossing her arms. “Well?” she huffed, looking back at him, knowing that one way or another he would have his say; she knew from experience that it was best to just get it over with.   He slowly strode in after her and took up his regular place to stand, in front of the fireplace; he really _was_ that predicable, she thought. Oddly, she found his regularity of habit kind of nice on rare occasions, comforting even. This was not one of them.  

“After you so foolishly bid Sir Dravin to join in the hunt for the spy – you will likely be pleased to hear that she got away, leaving so convoluted a trail in Shadow that even I could not tell which was the true path,” he looked up momentarily, “you elected to stay behind, to ‘gather clues’, the knight tells me.”

“And in spite of your continued misgivings about my methods,” she quickly defended herself, “I may have found some choice pieces of information for you, Father.”

Julian’s dark, elegant brows raised ever-so-slightly: he was actually interested in what she might’ve discovered, of course, but he had not finished yet. “Be that as it may, when he returned to the area of the initial confrontation on his way back to camp – to see if you were still there, no less – he came upon a full-grown manticore gorging itself upon the ruined flesh of my hounds! It could have just as easily been you instead!” he proclaimed, towering over her from exactly six feet away.

_He just adores towering like that_ , she thought sarcastically; ever since she’d been a child, he’d been striking that pose, trying to instill some fear of an Order-god in her, or, failing that, of himself. Father.

“Them _or_ me?   It would have been them _and_ me,” she glanced across the room at a taxidermied manticore head, the angelic humanoid face at odds with its lion’s mane and row upon row of sharklike teeth.   This room was filled to the brim with dead monsters, proof positive that Father could certainly keep the proverbial wolf from the door, even if he allowed something far more dangerous of the canine genus to curl up at his feet in the evenings. “The brutes’ stomachs are bottomless pits.”

Her father was simply at his wits’ end. “How can you care so little about your own welfare?!”

“Would you prefer if we tried to keep me safely under house arrest permanently in the Castle instead of my merely taking lessons there twice a week? As I recall, dear Uncle Random’s solution is still a standing offer for you. At any rate, his tutors refuse to come here and he won’t order them – I’ve already asked, anticipating that possibility.”

“That’s King Random to you,” the prince folded his own arms, “and he demands your respect.”

“‘Deserves’, Father,” she corrected him quietly, something she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing in public.

“He _demands_ it also, and we owe it him; he is a good and fair ruler – no don’t, I am in no mood for this old argument,” he cut her off, sitting across from her, staring at the green tiger rug that lay between them on the floor.

“I _know_ , Father,” Sarilda sighed tiredly. “I know all about it. There are days that I seem to hear of nothing else from you. Is the legal system here really that wonderful for you?   That you still live out here and not there?”

Julian’s anger had blown itself out for the most part; he was only studying her now, absently stroking his beard.

“It is still all head-learning,” he seemed to say more to himself than to her – except that she had learned that all of the prince’s soliloquies were meant to be overheard.   “I keep waiting for it to come from the heart. Perhaps I expect too much,” he looked away. “Perhaps you cannot, no matter how hard you try. It is not in your nature.”

‘You are not one of _us_ ’ – it was an implied statement of fact that had been repeated like a mantra in any number of variations over the past two-plus years of her life.   Sarilda Barimen knew that she could never be like the people she saw around her in the Castle, or even here in the Forest. Even if it had not been something closer akin to difference in species, her life experience alone would have singled her out of a crowd: her severe cultlike upbringing, her soldierlike training from a too-tender age.   She had never been allowed to truly be a child – she literally didn’t know _how_ to be one – and now that she was finally on the cusp of cultural adulthood (having achieved the physical part over a year ago already), this too was being denied her, even if the thought process behind the decision was not meant to be intentionally cruel toward her in this fashion.

It was something that her father just didn’t understand – couldn’t was more like it – but she couldn’t hate him for it. It was simply too alien for him.   She crossed the space between them, kneeling before him on the soft rug.

 

“I understand that this is your native world and chosen home, and that you both love and protect it.   That much is simple, universal.   I have always understood that.”   It was pointless to wish that _he_ could understand _her_ , even on such a basic level; she had learned that long ago, too.

The prince looked down at her, his expression going a little wryly soft. “I wish you understood that I value your life also, in spite of the difficulties we have faced. I wish that you would value it more yourself, rather than seeing yourself as expendable unless you are accomplishing something world-changingly massive,” he reached out and stroked her hair. “You will live many lifetimes, my daughter. You will have plenty of time to learn about the worlds, about Shadow, about what you are capable of.” He almost never smiled with his mouth, but one stood in his eyes.   “One day you will be an end unto yourself. Do not kill yourself before it comes. It is worth the wait.”

Sarilda settled in beside her father’s long legs, letting him stroke her hair as he had done ever since she first came here, as if she were one of his hounds, hoping that Sarah was still all right upstairs for the moment.

_Well, maybe I am a little more special to him than Cú Chulainn_, she thought: the hound wasn’t even allowed to walk on this rug…

* * *

 

Long and tense were the hours that Sarah was forced to while away in her younger-self’s bedroom, hiding.   Uncomfortable as that hard floor was, she had managed to sleep for a time on one of the fur rugs just on the far side of the bed nearer the crackling fire. Upon waking there, her mind drifted, thoughts of somewhere very different jogged by surprisingly similar stimuli. She hadn’t deliberately suppressed her memories and feelings about her time spent in Chaos and its shadows – it just had so little to do with her life on Earth, so few points of intersection, that after a rather short amount of time had gone by she had all but stopped thinking about that part completely.   Even now, she had to admit that only portions of the experience had been truly bad, that on the whole it really had been a personally ‘enriching’ visit, as her old guardian had initially dubbed it:   the different types of learning, the complex and highly varied culture, and, oh, the food – she forced herself to think of something else; she was terribly hungry as it was. At least there was still water in here, between the little that had been left in her canteen and Sarilda’s supply, which seemed potably clean.

Rolling onto her back, glancing up at the ceiling, Sarah noted an odd collection of trinkets that Sarilda had hung up there just above the mattress. To the casual, uninitiated observer it would’ve only looked like a strange mobile of sorts: bits of bone and feather, shells and rocks, scraps of metal; without even seeing the items up-close, Sarah knew that there would be a little dried blood on some of them. It was a protective talisman, something that would be considered rustic ritual practice in Chaos, along the lines of a piece of magickal folk-art. As much as her faith was probably being actively discouraged (if not outright banned) in her daily life, this was Sarilda’s home culture, her heritage, as much a part of who she was as the America Sarah had grown up in would always be a part of _her_ – only much moreso: Chaos was a society in which life meant rites and rites meant life. They couldn’t hope to totally eradicate something that deeply rooted in her original’s psyche. Sarah had to admit that the girl had made the rest of her personal space match the thing rather nicely, so that it would nearly appear to be just the opposite case – that the eclectic ornament accented the room instead.

Upon getting up, Sarah had quite a time finding any of Sarilda’s clothing that was anywhere close to her size; nearly all of it was too small in one manner or another – the girl was still about the size Sarah had been before her final growth spurt, and she couldn’t have had an ounce of fat on that skinny, athletic body besides.   It probably wasn’t as practical a choice as it needed to be, but she finally found a deep-forest-green wrap-skirt that she could lengthen enough in the waist to wear comfortably, and a cream-colored peasant-style blouse that was likely still a little too big for her original, yet fit Sarah like a glove, even if the sleeves came up to almost three-quarters length on her arms; if she rolled them to the elbow, they looked right.   With her own shoes on, she thought (with a note of self-deriding amusement) that she looked like an old hippie; it couldn’t be helped. Not sure what to do about her own clothing, she’d folded it down as tightly small as was humanly possible and crammed it into her bag, but it didn’t really fit well, kind of bulging out of the sides, the top flap barely closeable now.

After about fifteen minutes of trying to figure out what she would say to her original upon her return (only to give up because her mind was currently flying in too many directions at once), Sarah wound up perusing her bookshelves for something to distract hersellf instead. She was sitting on the edge of the small uneven hearth reading about big-game fishing in Rebma – a wildly vivid topic she had admittedly not known much about – when she heard the door handle being turned… and remembered Sarilda’s warning!   In a flash she was nearly in position, noiselessly scooting under the bed, when something knocked the door open all the way, and, after a split-second of the sounds of paws with nails clicking, a deep growling issued from the creature that stopped short at the foot of the bed, edging forward into the light with its sharp teeth bared:   it was a _hellhound_ , with a mottled black-and-olive coat - they all had some slightly exotic coloring to them, breed from a distant shadow that they were! Its ears were flattened as it steadily advanced upon Sarah, who was definitely scared to death at this point and desperately trying not to be – the creatures sensed fear too keenly – but someone else came through the door mere seconds after; it felt a lot longer!

“Lily, heel!   Lily? Come _here_!” It was Sarilda! Her hound instantly changed demeanor, friskily trotting over to her mistress, jumping up on her like the big puppy that she was, tackling her to the floor! The girl laughed and laughed as the wolf-hybrid tried to lick her face off before rolling over, lightly nipping at her arm in play, sniffing the parcel she’d been carrying before trying to bite into it.   “No! Off! This is not for you – you just ate!” the girl quickly reprimanded her; the hound whined but obediently let go, backing up a couple paces. “Sorry about that,” Sarilda apologized, getting back up, “you’d better sit in the middle of the bed; she knows she’s not allowed up there,” she advised, closing and bolting the door.

Sarah didn’t have to be told twice – she all but leapt up to safety! The hound’s golden eyes were staring holes into her at present; the beast had lowered her head as she slowly approached again, perfectly silent this time.  

“Oh, Lily, calm down already – she’s a friend, see?” A somewhat disheveled Sarilda sat down beside Sarah on the bed, handing her the wrapped parcel. “I couldn’t get away any sooner than this,” she apologized a second time via explanation as Sarah unwrapped the food and ravenously dug into the salted, spiced venison and simple grilled flatbread. “Father insisted on sharing lunch with me, alone, partially so I could give him my findings on your ‘friend’ in private – partly to try to make up for him losing his temper with me again,” she smiled a bit ruefully.   “It isn’t exactly the easiest of relationships, but I have heard that I am not the only one to have a difficult time in dealing with him,” she scratched behind Lily’s ears; the animal was as close as she could be without physically touching the bed, still eying Sarah warily. “Better put your bag up here, too – I’d introduce you more normally, but I don’t want her picking up on your clean scent, just in case.”

Sarah leaned over and grabbed it from the other side of the bed where she’d left it on the floor.   “At least _your_ father will make an effort to talk to you. Mine always shies away from confrontations of any stripe or color – then again, he isn’t my biological father, either,” she took another bite. Lily was more eagerly eying the meat than the stranger now; Sarilda noticed.

“As tempting as it might be to try to get on her good side, don’t feed her – you’ll never get rid of her,” she warned offhandedly. “I know, though. Patterners seem to equivocate even forced communication with ‘caring’, but it’s never felt that way to me.   I would respect him far better if he would simply leave me to my own devices most of the time, now that I am basically acclimated to my surroundings and no longer requiring of a guide to teach me in that manner. Such behavior in an adult is only used with very small children in Chaos; it is simply too babyish for someone of my age,” she shook her head, looking away. “And even when he does listen to me, sometimes it is as if he still cannot _hear_ me; it can get frustrating in a hurry.”

Sarah had sort of been quietly appalled at the girl at first, but the longer Sarilda spoke and Sarah _listened_ , the larger, far-reaching truth that she finally heard stopped her cold. She was stunned.

“Don’t tell me I’ve offended you, too!” Sarilda rolled her eyes… then really saw the older girl’s reaction for what it was. “Sarah, are you all right?”

Her older-self quickly forced a smile. “Of course I am,” she tried to laugh the reaction off; in truth, Sarah wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or cry or just be insulted! “That would’ve been incredibly helpful to know a few years back.   I just didn’t know he’d…” She stopped herself short, self-censoring.

“Yes?” Her original was obviously curious, but beneath it lurked a much more serious concern.

“Lord Mandor Sawall – you remember him from your trial?” – Sarilda nodded eagerly – “He never let on that how he was treating me while I was staying with him was strange – not once!   It really is sort of incredible to think about in retrospect. And toward the end, when my situation out there all went screwy, he had been acting so… cold, toward me, when _really_ …” She couldn’t finish; her voice would’ve broken on her.

Enlightenment washed over Sarilda’s face. “He had finally commenced treating you like an adult!” she concluded for her. “The emotional context and content is truly that important to you?” she asked almost in disbelief.

Sarah flushed, embarrassed.   “I guess it’s not _that_ life-or-death-”

“Yes, it is,” her original rudely interrupted her, dead-serious. “I’m going to have to think long and hard about that, if it really changes the perception of the communication that much. I must also ponder just how a full-blooded Chaos lord learned to do that so effortlessly that the behavior appeared ‘natural’ to you, a native Patterner.”

Sarah did laugh then.   “On my home-shadow they’re called ‘self-help books’ – he actually gave me the volume when we finally parted ways since he was through using it and thought parts of it might even be useful to me! Guess I never did get around to reading the last few chapters; the writing style was just so _boring_ , far too dry and clinical. My eyes kept falling shut on me.”

“Accurately informative, yet too unemotional to intellectually connect,” her younger-self amusedly observed. “It was likely penned by a native Chaosian, too, then, and I think I might even be familiar with the subspecies of the author, if what I was taught was correct… but you are distracting me with your past when I need to learn of your present!   How did you come to be here again?   I must hear everything!”

And, over the course of the next half-hour, Sarilda Barimen _did_ , from the unwelcome supernatural apparition at Sarah’s new residence to her nearly being discovered by the very manticore that Sarilda had only narrowly avoided by getting them both out of that portion of the Forest just in time! Sarah was astounded to hear that the form of transport she had physically endured in traveling to Amber was in all likelihood Chaosian-style shadow-pulling; it was a small miracle that she was still alive and in one piece, let alone in good condition! Even ‘protected’, that had been an incredibly reckless and desperate choice by the Lady, as if She –

_…she_ , Sarah corrected herself…

-was operating under a considerable time constraint to risk Sarah’s life and limbs like that! There followed lengthy conjecture over who in the Courts might’ve had access to that level of confidential knowledge about the Stone, but, as far as either of them could make out, the best House candidate would’ve been Amblerash, and its members were almost exclusively a priest-caste, and relatively politically neutral at that. It was covertly obtained intelligence, obviously, but by whom?   The Argent Pattern had plenty of enemies on both sides; it was the logical equivalent of trying to figure out which match in a matchbox had been used to make the whole thing explode into a fireball! A more pertinent question would’ve been who _wouldn’t_ have wanted to see the prince’s multiverse fail, but neither of them could name any candidate at all for that category.   The field of suspects for the crime was simply too wide to narrow it down beyond gender. Lily eventually grew bored with listening to the two nearly-identical female voices chatter back-and-forth, and walked over to the fireplace to take a nap after the beast’s rather eventful morning.

Sarah had been right thinking that Sarilda would _get_ this; it was just a little too close for comfort to what had happened before – so close, in fact, that whoever-it-was this time seemed to have been following the Dark Lady’s game-book initially, until things went haywire with the Hunt.

“At least I have almost a full month to fix it,” Sarah sighed, lying back on the shaggy comforter.   “What _is_ this made from, by-the-way?”

“A form of shadow-elephant – a young one Father took when I first came to this place. He showed me how to skin the animal and salt its meat to preserve it; we tanned the hide together. I suppose it is his version of a welcoming present,” she stroked the soft, thick fur. “But what makes you think that you have so much time?”

“Tir-na Nog’th only appears once a month at the full of the moon, if it isn’t cloudy.”

Sarilda’s eyes were full of warning as she looked down at her. “Tir-na Nog’th appears every night there _is_ a moon.”

“What?!”

Lily’s ears perked up; she turned to look.

“It’s okay,” Sarah experimentally crooned; the hound calmed back down, settling her head down between her paws.

“Where did you learn that?   It is patently false!”

“From… her,” Sarah faltered, “but it sounded so familiar at the time; I’m sure I’d heard it elsewhere before!” she said, careful not to talk too loudly. “Why couldn’t I see it when I was here before, then?”

“You _can’t_ see it down in the City; only from the Peak is it visible – it’s too translucent for the light to carry. Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I think I know what you must’ve been taught: that it is safest to be up there on a clear night, when the moon is full!”

Sarah groaned, closing her eyes, covering them with an arm. “That’s got to be it. Oh, Sarilda, what am I going to _do_? I feel like such an idiot!” she gave the mattress a little pound with her fist.

“You are not taking it onward to the prince’s neo-Pattern, then?”

“No way!” Sarah looked up at her seriously. “That sounds like the one thing I _shouldn’t_ be doing here – did any of that business sound like a positive thing to you?”

“No,” her younger-self agreed, “but at the same time don’t you think the Prince might know something about this, being so intimately acquainted with the Eye of the Serpent as he is?”

“I wouldn’t stake my life on it; the Jewel of Judgment is such a carefully-guarded state secret that only a very small number of individuals even know just what all _that_ does, and at least three of them are dead now. I seriously wonder if there’s ever been any attempt to test the Dreamstone’s powers at all if they can’t even touch it-”

“A moment: you say that one of Substance is incapable of even holding the Stone?”

“That’s what I was told, but we’ve confirmed that my source is a liar.”

“And presumably Chaos magic could negatively effect it?”

“I guess I wouldn’t be surprised – possibly even the other way around, when you stop and think about it.   She wouldn’t get anywhere near the thing, even though she obviously wanted to.”

“I wonder… would you mind getting it out for me again? I wish to see something – nothing magickal, I promise,” she added at Sarah’s look of warning.

Rolling over, Sarah extracted the bundled fabric and sat up to unfold it while Sarilda got up and retrieved a tome from her bookshelf and a hand-held mirror from her washstand.

“Wrap the chain about your hand and wrist several times,” she solemnly instructed her elder-self as she sat back down with the items. “Best to be safe.”

Sarah did as she was told, feeling the strangeness of the artifact climb up her arm in fuzzy tingles like static electricity.

“Try to lay the Stone down on top of this,” she held up a biology book, well off the bed: as Sarah did so, the Stone sank straight through the hardbound cover and thick pages as if they weren’t even there, reappearing out of the bottom once sufficient chain was lowered!

“What the-”

“Just as I thought,” Sarilda pronounced grimly, putting down the book and taking up the mirror, repeating the simple experiment – only this time the Stone passed _into_ the reflection, and an upside-down mirage of it appeared to float above the glass in midair like a hologram! Sarilda quickly removed the mirror.

“Wrap that up _tightly_ and knot it inside the bag right this instant, Sarah,” she rapidly ordered. “Do not take it out again for any reason at all until you have safely gained the worlds of Shadow once more.”

“Why? What does all this mean?” Sarah asked, catching the girl’s sense of urgency as she quickly performed the task without hesitation.

Once the Stone was safely back in the sack, Sarilda told her.

“If you so much as accidentally drop that thing in the True World without it being cloaked in a shadow-object like that, it could drop straight through the ground and fall to the center of the planet and be lost!”

Sarah’s eyes were dinnerplates for a second… then she stuffed the parcel firmly into the very bottom of the carryall, underneath her clothing!

Sarilda eyed the foreign garments ruefully. “I hate to have to bring this up, but you stand a much better chance of making it out of Amber alive without all that – it defeats the purpose of cloaking your scent if you are still so obviously carrying your own about. We’d best burn them in the fireplace – scoot, Lily,” she shooed the hound out of the way, adding more kindling from a seasoned pile of deadfall to the side.

Doubtless she was right, but it didn’t make this any easier. In minutes, Sarah’s button-down blouse and her favorite blue-jeans were going up in flames. She refused to relinquish her sneakers, explaining that the rubberized compounds they were manufactured with would produce toxic fumes if incinerated – that, and Sarilda’s own shoes were a full size too small for her feet.

“I really do wish there was a way I could just talk to the king – I don’t want to take this thing any further from this place than I have to! Only the powers know what could happen to Tir-na Nog’th without it! If the projected outcome for yours truly wasn’t so terrible, I would’ve let you make the reward _stater_ ,” she smirked at ‘herself’.

Sarilda suddenly looked as if she were seriously considering something.

“Please don’t tell me I just convinced you to do it anyway!” she nervously laughed.

“There may be a way…”   The girl leapt up and grabbed a geography tome, bringing it back over, flipping to a certain section, stopping at…

Kashfa.

“My cousin Rinaldo still rules the shadow-kingdom of Kashfa; I have yet to be allowed to meet him, but I am given to believe that he is a shrewd and just monarch, and well-liked by his subjects besides – which seems to me a much more realistic recommendation.   You are familiar with the Golden Circle city-states that Amber holds commerce with?”

“More in theory than in detail or practice, but yes.”

“Make for Kashfa with all due haste, then, and seek political asylum there; in your peculiar circumstances – wishing to return the Stone as you do – I feel certain that the boon would be granted. And if for any reason the negotiations with King Random should go sour, you will have safe-haven and be well-protected until things can be smoothed over with Amber.   Here, I’ll tear out the maps for you – no, on second thought take the whole book; I can tell my uncle it dropped out of my saddlebag into a mud puddle and it got ruined if I have to.   The kingdom can be shadow-walked to by land since it is landlocked. You… know how to do this?” she inquired half-heartedly, not sure whether to believe such a thing was possible for one _not_ of Substance.

“Yes, technically, but I haven’t had to try it using the Pattern yet; it always felt really awkward with the Logrus.” Sarah shoved down the unwelcome memories of her last botched attempt. ‘No one to catch her’, indeed!

Sarilda looked surprised.   “I didn’t even know one could do that with the Logrus!”

“Not easily; I think it’s counter-intuitive for the Power. At least that’s one thing I’ve possibly got going in my favor this time out.”

“Just follow the maps and concentrate on the descriptions, then; I think you’ll make it,” Sarilda nodded.   “Rest quietly as much as you can in here today; we’ll make a break for it when Father goes to bed.”

“We?”

“Did you think I was about to turn you loose in these woods at night by yourself?” Sarilda laughed.   “You wouldn’t last ten minutes out there! We’ll take Lily to flush out ahead of us, and see if Cú Chulainn will follow her as well – he’s a night animal anyway, being Father’s guard-dog; he’ll be awake, prowling the grounds around the cabin. You should have enough food here for at least two more meals, but I’ll bring more water and an extra cloak from the guards – poor Dravin won’t be needing his for a while,” she glanced away, looking a bit guilty. “I didn’t mean to get him into so much trouble today. I hope he will forgive me when Father reinstates him.”

_I’m afraid he will_ , Sarah thought resignedly. Sarilda really was a little too attractive for her own good at this age; she was going to grow up to be even prettier than Sarah – who suddenly knew how Mandor must’ve felt about Jareth…

“Sarah.”

The girl slowly awoke in a rather strange place… cramped ceiling, nearly curled into a ball on…

A fur. “Sarilda!” she whispered.

“Sarah, it’s time.”   Her younger-self helped her ease out from beneath the bed. The fire had been allowed to bank down; bright yellow hound’s eyes met hers in the dark, and a wet nose quickly sniffed her face before the nails clicked away toward the door. Carefully rising, she donned the hooded, black, fine-spun wool cloak that was silently pressed into her arms, and shouldered her bag – heavy with both the scholarly geography tome and her canteen, which had obviously been refilled while she was asleep, not to mention the remaining rations and whatnot. Creeping out of the opened door and down the hallway, down the stairs in the almost nonexistent light of the long, large fireplace in the main room – which was still smoldering fitfully – they managed to silently sneak out the back door again… but Sarilda was carefully to skirt the stables this time, stalking toward the tented area instead.

“What are you-” Sarah had begun to whisper, only to find a hand firmly clamped over her mouth.

“We can’t take _my_ horse, silly – it would be far too obvious when the tracks are discovered!” Sarilda hissed in her ear.

Sarah could not believe the girl’s nerve as she flowed noiselessly through the soldiers’ sector, to the main stables – such as they were – picking out a sturdy-looking cream-colored stallion, feeding him treats as she geared him up; she was leading him by the reins within ten minutes! Helping Sarah to mount up behind her, Sarilda calmly walked him through the camp as if she were just one of the guards on the overnight shift; in the torchlight, Sarah could now see that her younger-self wore the regular livery, if not her armor, so that they would attract less attention.

There was one unendurably tense moment when they had to wait for the sentry, but at last he turned away at the sound of one of the hounds getting into something that they should’ve have been, and went off to investigate.

“Good Lily,” Sarilda whispered back to Sarah with a naughty little smile. “Cú Chulainn, clear!”

The mature male hound had been quickly pacing back-and-forth about their mount’s feet, for how long Sarah wasn’t sure, since he had come to them so quietly; he was a bundle of nerves and sinew, all his muscles quiveringly taut, his huge orange eyes frighteningly intense, feral. At the command, he shot off like a fired bolt, tearing through the undergrowth ahead of them, rapidly outpacing the horse, which was set to galloping at full-speed once they were safely out of earshot of the camp!

If it had not been for the constant threat of various deadly wild animals, the Arden would’ve been a jungle paradise by night, more beautiful than it was by day! The heavily incensed air seemed even healthier by starlight – literally more _breathable_ , if such a thing were possible – the deep greens now a resolute shade of blue where the moonlight peeked down through the canopy, bathing them in a soft, silvery glow.

_Tir-na Nog’th_ , Sarah couldn’t help thinking with regret, _I will return to thee what is thine. I promise_, she mentally offered up to the coolness and the life that surrounded them like a dream of pagan paradise, not sure who might actually be listening tonight in this place. Did the Unicorn truly haunt these woods? They were far away from the Grove and its shrine, and getting farther by the second…

Within forty minutes they had gained the edge of the forest; Sarah had seen no dangerous animals try to cross their path… but as they came out into the clear moonlight, bloody gore was visibly dripping from Cú Chulainn’s muzzle!

“Good boy,” Sarilda praised him, dismounting; Sarah moved to as well, but the girl stopped her.   “Even at a medium canter, you will make much better time than you would on foot – keep the horse.”

“Sarilda! Are you really sure? What do I even _do_ with him?! I’ve never cared for one before!”

“Of course I’m sure – what’s to know? When he’s hungry, let him graze; when he’s thirsty let him drink; when he’s tired, let him rest. Treat him like you treat yourself. The bit is easy to remove and put back in. Cloud won’t try to bite your fingers or stomp on your feet – he’s one of the more patient ones; not much in the way of personality or spirit, but very reliable, a decent first mount. Try to bring him back if you can. If you can’t, well… it wouldn’t be the first time one of our animals has managed to wander away from the camp, never to return. Travel on a little further with him tonight, then wait for the morning and better light to start out in earnest. Try going northeast; you might get there more quickly – it’s all in the book.”

“Sarilda,” Sarah just shook her head, “there’s no way I can ever thank you enough, that I can ever repay this-”

“Oh, come off it,” the girl brushed it aside – then looked up at her seriously. “You did the same for me once, and far more. I’d say we’re pretty much even. Now get out of here; I have to get back to camp before someone realizes that _I_ wandered away!” she laughed. “No, Cú Chulainn, don’t follow the horse – stay with me now, good _boy_! Come on, let’s go home,” she was saying as Sarah unsteadily urged Cloud forward gently with her heels as she had seen Sarilda do, doing her best to stay in the saddle as she white-knuckled the reins in her grasp, hoping he knew the meaning of the Thari word for ‘whoa!’

This was obviously going to take a _lot_ of practice…

* * *

 

King Mandor the First of Tir-na Nog’th irritatedly stood in the bedroom of his sleeping terrestrial rival Random Barimen; while he had been capable of opening the safe by sympathetic magic, he was unable to physically grasp the Jewel of Judgment which lay before him.   His translucent hands just kept slipping straight through the gold setting…


	4. Into the Woods

Chapter 3 – Into the Woods

It is universal human experience – perhaps more widely overarching into general intelligent conscious existence – that sooner or later one will run smack dab into a situation that is supposed to be common or simple but really isn’t.

 _Stay on the horse, stay on the horse, stay on the horse_, Sarah’s nervous mantra kept its steady rhythm in time to Cloud’s bodily movements and the swaying that they caused up top in his leisurely walking. Between the dim light-level (even in spite of the still-mostly-full waning moon riding high over them) and the girl’s own near-total inexperience, she wasn’t about to push her luck any further than she had to tonight.   Sarilda had doubtless had the right idea in getting her away from the Arden Forest and its fell inhabitants, but Sarah was none too keen on trying for any shifts in the dark, either! The land continued its pattern of gently rolling grassy hills, the outer ripples of the upthrust of Primal Order. Once they had ambled over a couple of them, she spotted a few trees growing together in a thin stand and decided the sparse cover was better than none, to wait for the dawn. It took some work to figure out how to coax the horse to go in the direction that she wanted, but Cloud finally seemed to deduce what his untrained rider wanted of him and casually sauntered over.

“Whoa,” Sarah tried in Thari, pulling back on the reins once they were there; to her small relief the animal actually stopped. “Good boy,” she sighed, stroking his neck a moment; he nickered softly. She suddenly felt the weight of the enormous responsibility of caring for such a large creature when in all likelihood it would be all she could do just to survive out here herself, but at the same time she couldn’t shake the selfish sentiment that at least she wasn’t alone in this wilderness between the worlds, come what may. “I’m getting down now, Cloud,” she warned him. “Please hold still.” She had no idea what kind of response she would get from the animal if she lapsed back into English; it was probably bad enough that she was a total stranger in the night. Easing her feet out of the stirrups, she awkwardly managed to slide off the right side, landing on her feet sort of forward, windmilling her arms slightly.   At least she hadn’t fallen.

It was only when she was dismounted that she finally noticed the saddlebags: she’d been so nervous back in the camp that their presence hadn’t even registered in her mind!   Opening the flap of the near one, she discovered a couple brushes that had to be for the horse, along with a small bag of oats: emergency rations, she decided, leaving them where they were for the moment. The other side contained further rations – for both of them. Sarilda really had done the most she could to give Sarah the best chances of making it to her destination in halfway decent shape. That was something, anyway.

Of course, she was sort of wishing that there was a volume on horsemanship in there, too – there wasn’t; she was left to shift for herself on that count. Uneasily walking around to the front of the animal, Sarah studied Cloud’s bridle for a couple of minutes before even trying to take it off so he could graze. Her younger-self was right in that the head straps _were_ easily removed over the ears, but the bit proved more of a challenge: he unexpectedly backed up from her, shying when she accidentally knocked his teeth against the metal once, his big liquid-brown eyes open wide as he snorted.

“Sorry, boy! Easy, _easy_ there,” she forced herself to breathe, glancing down at his front feet for a second to make sure he didn’t step on hers’!   At last it was done, though. “There,” she held the piece. “It feels good to have this out, doesn’t it boy?”

He unexpectedly nuzzled her, making her laugh, stroking his silky mane. Carefully hanging the equipment from one of the branches so that she would remember how to put it back on, she secured his saddle strap to a tree with a simple slipknot – it was the only way she could figure to secure him that would still leave his head free – before sorely wandering over to the other side of the stand. Everything from the waist down ached and/or burned something fierce, especially her lower back, hips, and thighs. The romantic dream of riding horseback across the mythic countryside had finally met up with the stark reality that this was a heck of a lot of exercise for the rider as well as the mount! Stiffly seating herself upon the hard ground, she extracted her canteen and took a long drink, reflecting that she was going to have to find – and keep finding – safely potable water for them both, but with any luck at least _that_ would be relatively simple now that she had a good Pattern imprint.   The Logrus had technically allowed for retroactive non-pull ‘location’ methods, but while she had proven capable of doing this, it always came with an attached feeling of awkwardness, like working from a mirror-image while at an odd angle. With trepidation she recalled what had happened the last time she had even tentatively tried to use her ‘new’ powers – with the crystal – but dismissed the result outright: the Lady had obviously been lying in wait for her like one of those green tigers; she had probably just been looking for a beacon of Pattern-power far from Amber…

That thought alone made her pause. Who would’ve even been looking for something like that? And why?   How could She have known what She knew without being who She said She was?! Nobody aside of Sarah herself and the Pattern-ghosts of Corwin and Rinaldo even knew about that incident with Ghost-Brand out at the Argent Pattern!   Oh, and Jareth of course…

Jareth. The name hung before her mind menacingly like an unexploded bomb. She had never learned what had happened to him from anyone, yet another topic she had never seen fit to ask King Merlin about in the presence of his Order-counterpart. It was almost frighteningly easy to imagine her current predicament if the former Goblin King had been captured by practically anyone other than His Excellency – or Mandor, for that matter! There had probably been an inter-shadow warrant out for his arrest as a dangerous defector. Even simple knowledge that he existed at all might’ve seemed valuable to someone; there was no denying that Jareth appeared to have indirect access to some surprisingly high-level Chaosian secrets. Had some minor noble – or even an outlaw – picked him up and decided to go into business for themselves? It seemed a dismally plausible scenario… which could mean that whoever it was might just as easily zero in on her the moment she used any power at all! She sensed no tracking spell on her person, but that didn’t mean that… ! She gave an aggravated little cry – and heard a replying neigh from the other side of the tree!

If she kept up this level of paranoia, she would truly drive herself crazy, or worse yet irritate or upset her transportation. Lying back on her cloak, wrapping it about her like a blanket, she gazed up at the stars – and for one strange dreamlike moment had déjà vu of being back in the library at Mandorways again, with that huge, scientifically accurate display of the Order heavens; in spite of the height of that ceiling she began to feel trapped, claustrophobic… but then a gentle breeze blew past her, breaking the mental spell of memory, and she sighed in relief, closing her eyes. There was no point in worrying about it all night.   Tomorrow she would decide what she needed to do, even if that meant shooing the horse back into the Forest to go find his way back to his camp and his people again, if she wasn’t sure he would be safe with her.

She watched the celestial mobile of countless stars and galaxies ever-so-slowly swing round overhead until her eyelids drooped, then shoved closed from sheer psychological exhaustion…

* * *

 

It started innocently enough

With a long, lanky prince

Wearing a kimono, colorless – both –

In the moonlit rock garden

(the old one)

Practicing his _Kendo Kata_ ,

Katana in his unsevered right hand

Meditating

As he had not done in over

300 years

When he still deigned

To live among us

As a friend.

 

The princess

Who saw him from a

Third-story balcony

Thought she must be

Dreaming

Until she came into the

Orchard

And found that an

Apple tree

Was freshly pruned

By the sword.

* * *

 

The bright golden dawn found its way under the cracks of Sarah’s eyes, prying the reluctant things open again. Squinting against the insistent glare, rolling over to get the sun out of her face, she was immediately choked by the cloak she was still wearing, forcing her to sit up instead.

 _Take it off first_, she thought irritatedly, the vision of Mandor using his travel jacket for a blanket in that car briefly flashing by behind her eyelids as she stiffly scooted forward, looking about at where they had ended up; it had been too dark to see very far the previous night. Slowly coming to her feet, her muscles were still a bit sore as she hiked up to the top of the nearest hill and scanned about in all directions.   She could no longer make out any vestiges of the Arden: all about them was lush, rolling countryside with absolutely no signs of civilization or people anywhere. Their present locale was totally pristine, untouched, scenic as a picture-postcard.   They were completely alone out here.  

Cloud, who had already eaten and was fully alert and standing at attention, lifted his head in her direction upon hearing her rise, his ears forward, those big innocent-looking eyes watching her expectantly as she came back.

“Morning, Cloud,” she said softly, walking over to him, reflecting that she probably should’ve removed the saddle also, but to be honest she had been sort of leery of the possibility of not being able to strap it back into place correctly afterwards.   “Hope you had a good night’s rest, boy,” she patted his neck in passing, hearing the soft noise he made in response.   Even with all the probable hassle of caring for one of these creatures, she could easily see how one could become attached to them – and the thought was accompanied by a fair modicum of guilt.   Someone would be missing this horse, transportation and companion rolled into one. She would have never accepted him at all had she not been so terribly desperate, but her younger-self would’ve have had it any other way, and Sarah had taken for granted that the girl knew what she was about here. A traveler alone might very well not survive long without a reliable mount in this region.

Cloud stamped a little, ready to be untethered for the day, but Sarah wasn’t ready to depart just yet.   Digging out her morning provisions (such as they were – more dried meat and biscuits that resembled hardtack chiefly, although there were slices of dried apple in there, too), she ate while studying the geography tome – her only remaining lifeline to humanity.

She had to admit that the contents were impressive, and not just due to the richly-painted illustrations and immensely detailed instructions that lay within. Random Barimen really _was_ doing his best to rehabilitate his half-Chaosian niece if he was allowing her access to this level of knowledge! To be blunt, the volume was probably intrinsically priceless, made in Amber by an Amberite – possibly even one or more of the older princes – for the audience of the Royal Family! The text spoke of far more than regions, topography, history and culture: it actually detailed the possible mechanics of the shadow-walks necessary for attaining each destination, what differences in stimuli should happen along the approach to certain shadow-worlds! Sarah had been taught correctly that the idea of ‘distance’ between two Shadow-places was strictly arbitrary, and yet – at least starting out from the True World – there _did_ seem to be a source of measurement, regardless of the timescale involved in the journey, which depended on how many changes were necessary to alter the landscape away from the answer to the algebraic equation that was Amber. Many paths were still possible in this intellectual format of probabilities, and yet it could not be denied that there _were_ circles of gradually decreasing similarity – hence, the ‘Golden Circle’. Kashfa was artificially a considerable ‘distance’ from Amber, yet the place shared a land-border with the True City’s nearest shadow-neighbor (second only to Rebma): Begma, the land that Sarah had pretended to have been from the last time she covertly visited Amber.

Or, to be more precise, both Begma and Kashfa physically bordered Eregnor, a resource-rich stretch of land that both countries had argued and fought over since time-immemorial.   It could be difficult to ‘walk’ to Begma unless the coast could be followed all the way (which was all but impossible because Amber’s own coastline was fairly choppy; it was still far easier to sail there, even though it took far longer), but Eregnor could be reached in this manner if one was scrupulously careful in ‘introducing’ the indigenous plant-life of the intended region in a very specific order… and all of it was beautifully painted in oils, along with the botanical descriptions. Once Eregnor was gained, one could simply continue on into Kashfa without much interference from the locals and minimal shifting requirements; the same could not be said of traveling to Begma from Eregnor, for a knife-thin, long mountain range lay inbetween the two shadows. The duration of the trip was entirely dependent upon the traveler and their relative skill-levels; a hellride was technically possible yet not recommended due to the slight, nitpicky shifting involved – it would be almost too easy to overshoot the destination entirely.

In short, it looked doable… with decent transport, i.e. a horse; the journey might take three times as long by foot for a beginner. Whilst time was definitely of the essence here, Sarah wasn’t about to rush off to her death by being careless, either. She closed the book, taking a swig of water; a slow-moving stream would be the first thing she would have to locate today. “What do you think, Cloud?” she called back to him. “I know we just met, but do you feel like going on a little adventure with me before I try to get you back home?”

Cloud snored his impatience to be going already, pawing the ground in front of him.

“Alright, alright,” Sarah laughed, finishing what she had to do to get ready. And momentarily considered the tracks they were leaving.   If Julian decided to…

Cloud was right, she quickly decided: it was time to get out while she still could. Taking down the bridle from where she’d hung it the previous night, she had a sudden thought, smelling the bit.

_Treat him like you would treat yourself..._

Sarah had had a couple of friends later in high school who’d had their teeth straightened and had to wear retainers; she couldn’t imagine putting one in her own mouth without at least rinsing it off first – they could get to be kind of gross in a hurry.   Going back for her canteen, she very gingerly trickled a little of her precious water over the piece of metal – she couldn’t afford to spare much – before bringing it back to Cloud, presenting it.

“I’ll try to be more careful this time,” she reassured him, passing the bridle over one ear, then getting him to open his mouth and inserting the bit past his teeth as if she were playing ‘Operation’, easily slipping the rest over the other ear.   Only to realize that the reins were in _front_ – she had to do it all over again! Cloud patiently cooperated, waiting for her to get it right, watching her a little uncertainly.

“Good boy,” she kept reassuring him, “good boy. I’ll get better at this, I promise.”

Untying him from the tree, she managed to awkwardly mount him again, getting into a passable position in the saddle. Several experimental verbal cues, clicks and nudges later, they were moving once more.  

At least the general area was hilly for some distance ‘naturally’, it appeared – likely the reason Sarilda had brought her out this way: mild obstructions of view hid shadow-shifts more readily than a flat expanse of nothing, or even grassed plain.

 _Okay then_ , Sarah began to concentrate after a few minutes, allowing the repetitive motions of Cloud’s body beneath her to lull her in to a light meditative state: she would do it right this time, darn it!   Calmly. After a while longer she gave the reins a little shake, and the horse eased into a smooth canter. Beyond the next two hills, Sarah spotted the small, slowly meandering stream she had desired to be there and led him over to drink his fill before continuing on, following the new body of water.

 _Just little changes. Slowly_, she admonished herself, concentrating again. Over the course of the next three hours all that altered in the world around them were a few different wildflowers mixed in with the grass, the hills growing gradually hillier, the sky beginning to leach just a little of that impossible blue. This was right. It was a good rate of progression, healthy for both participants.   She stopped for a late lunch in a thin, scrubby vale and let Cloud have the smaller bag of oats; he deserved it for putting up with her, she reasoned, although he didn’t seem to mind her general ineptitude half as much as she suspected she would’ve, had their roles been reversed.   Reviewing the book, she adjusted course by the position of the sun a bit to the west, ruefully having to leave the stream behind as they gained both elevation and some evergreen trees.   Their way continued both smooth and broad as she wished; they climbed a well-worn path up into the mountains that looked like it could’ve been there for the past five centuries and not the past five minutes like it probably was. Gaining a high plain in a short-grassed valley, the riding was easier again by the time the sun was setting; by dusk they had traveled all the way across it and were at the edge of another deeply-shaded, thick, old-growth forest. Deciding to make camp just outside, Sarah tethered Cloud to a near young ash tree while talking to him – she couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as if he understood at least bits of what she was saying – making a scanty meal of more rations for herself.   She still didn’t feel completely comfortable about removing the saddle, but she located the straps to loosen it this time, and did her best to brush Cloud down, even working under the saddle blanket as well as she could manage. She took one of the brushes she hadn’t used on him to her own hair – that was a mess, too – before braiding it back tightly so she wouldn’t have to worry about it again. It was quite a bit cooler up here even with her woolen cloak, and after a while she was beginning to wonder whether she would be able to get any sleep at all, shivering as she was, when Cloud surprised her in the dark, settling down beside her with a light snort.

“Thanks, boy,” she yawned, snuggling up to his warm side, propping up against him. In seconds, she was asleep.

* * *

 

Raucous laughter and bawdy songs

Ale drunk and poured and spilt among friends

All stopped on an obol

The moment a ghostly prince walked in –

Caine, paler than he had ever been in life

Colorless

Yet in high spirits himself,

Once a king in a place like this

(yet not the Concord Tavern on Concorde Street

for it was too new.)

Confused, irate, he berated their

Inhospitality and lack of decorum toward him

Silently

Though his lips moved

And he mouthed adamantly

For them to continue as they had been.

 

Space was made for him

In one of the polished leather booths

And ale brought by a pretty lass

Who he gestured to stay and drink also,

As in the old days of his youth.

Yet the hapless barmaid noted how he clutched his

Dagger – by the sheath, not the hilt, tightly

Beneath the table

As he drank

Making amorous advances, which

Had he not been a ghost

Would’ve made her melt in his embrace where she sat.

As it was – solid though his caresses were,

He whispered sweet nothing into her ear

\- Nothing -

In silence, kissing it.

 

She couldn’t even feel him breathing…

* * *

 

Sarah awoke the next morning to warm breath and gentle nuzzled shoving, accompanied by quiet little vocalizations… and opened her eyes to horse-face! She gasped, startled, then laughed, relaxing again as he shied away from her surprise. “Morning, Cloud – getting tired of lying there, huh boy?” she stroked his mane, sitting up…

Just in time to see why he’d woken her up in the first place: eyes were watching them from the forest just a couple yards away! They were not fearsome like a predator’s; the horse would have acted much more scared if that had been the case. Just a stranger to their little camp… or three or four of them, watching her and her mount intently. From what she could see they were rather small, although they were largely hidden in the deep shadows still cast by the trees in the early morning light.

“Hello?” Sarah called out to them in Thari.

They immediately cleared out fast as foxes. But there had been real intelligence in those dark-green eyes…

Sarah prepared for the day in haste, checking the book’s section on exotic shadow-fauna before embarking again. There was nothing comparable to what she had just seen, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything major either way. Shadow was theoretically infinite; so, too, must be the varieties of its denizens.

As she mounted up, it was difficult to get Cloud to go forward; he eyed the woods in suspicion, backing up a couple paces.

“Something in there that you don’t like, boy? What is it?”

Her mount refused to budge, dead-silent. She sighed.

“I hate to have to go back the way we came,” she started… then remembered that her direction of travel was entirely arbitrary as well: they really could go back and _keep going forward_ so long as she kept shifting! “All right, Cloud, I’m going to trust you this time. How about we go this way instead?” she steered him left, away from the strange primeval forest and its mysterious inhabitants, careful not to view the plateau herself out of her peripheral vision, forcing the forest-fenced landscape to lengthen out in front of them, back into mountains. Cloud snorted and shook his head, unable to make sense of what he was seeing, but Sarah kept him calm and steady as they skirted the trees, climbing steeply again, the greenway morphing into a clear thin path – this one with wagon wheel tracks on either side, more like a regularly traveled dirt road that led up the mountain pass. By midmorning they had run into a bit of threateningly dark cloud cover lowering ominously over the slopes like fog, but Sarah forced herself to remain cheerful, thinking really bright happy-thoughts until the sun came out to vanquish the weather. Peaking by early afternoon, Sarah could now see that they were just on the outskirts of a considerably wide mountain range, with snow-capped peaks further on, difficult climbing as far as the eye could see – in all directions now, a quick glance behind confirmed; the forest had sort of petered out around lunchtime.   But this was okay, too: all she had to do now was abbreviate the crossing, add a few more plants, and Eregnor _would_ be on the other-

“Gotcha!”

Cloud whinnied loudly in surprise, dancing a few paces, and Sarah just barely managed to hang onto him, tightly clutching the reins: they were surrounded by diminutive, squatly-built humanoid figures armed with bows, arrows and daggers faster than she could blink! One was perched on a bare rock outcropping not five feet from where she sat, with her in his sights! They were all clad in ancient-looking brown leather and grey wool (both practical and camouflaging, Sarah reasoned), but the one nearest her also wore bits of gold jewelry here and there about his person, especially about his leather belt!

They were _dwarves_ , of course – mountain dwarves in their natural habitat, to be precise – and they looked to be in far better shape than Hoggle had ever been, even if a few of them might’ve been his age or older!

“Yer clever for a human, I’ll grant,” the one she took to be their leader addressed her – the one wearing the gold, “but not clever enough. All the shabby clothing in the world don’t hide a valuable jewel from dwarf-eyes,” his own huge pale-gray ones shone with open greed as he stared holes through her carryall! “Hand it over smooth and free and yous can keep what’s left o’ yer short lifespan – it ain’t worth takin’ needlesslike and humans don’t go for much resale these days, not even for parts. Yer beast, on the other hand,” – he licked his cracked lips as the arc of bowstrings tightened – “is dinner.”

What happened next happened so fast that even Sarah wasn’t quite sure of precisely how it had occurred:   all she knew was that the Stone was in her bag and there was no way she could ever reach it before the little monsters shot and killed Cloud right out from beneath her-

\- and the next moment they were standing in the midst of a verdant old-growth forest, alone! Cloud reared in fright, trumpeting loudly at the abrupt change; Sarah nearly fell from his back, but gripped both the reins and his mane to stay on as he bolted off blindly into the dark woods with her!  

“Whoa! Whoa, boy!   Easy there!” she called to him, struggling to regain control of him!

An eerie, long, glassy whistle of a note brought them both up short; the horse stood stock-still, his ears flicked in the direction from which it had come, somewhere off to the left, his rider uneasy about even which way to try to go without any way to determine their current bearings! Especially if they weren’t alone out here…

A second note answered it from the opposite direction, a perfect fourth-step down: it was unmistakably a type of flute, not a birdcall!   Cloud let forth another trumpet himself, as if communicating, no longer afraid!

But Sarah _was_!   Who knew who or what could possibly be making that noise, that was assessing their location before closing in!   A third note sounded from a different direction – behind them – a minor third up from the previous tone!

 _Whatever’s going down here, we are not in Amber anymore_, she thought, digging out the Stone and donning the heavy necklace without a moment’s hesitation; even uncertain of how it worked precisely, it felt better to have at least _this_ much protection! With any luck, hopefully whoever-it-was wouldn’t be interested in them…

A fourth tone, breathier than the others, came from the newly-pastelized (for Sarah) forest directly before them, another major third-step up. Cloud seemed to say something in horsetalk – which she could now understand!

‘We are here. Please come.’

 _No!_ Sarah thought frantically, not sure how to return the communiqué. _That’s the last thing we_…

The soft clopping footfalls of another horse approached them; the moment she got her first good sighting of the ‘rider’, she forgot to breathe: it was a female centaur! Delicate chestnut-brown fingers held shimmering panpipes to her full, sensuous lips, set below a gently-curving nose and enormous golden-brown eyes, wide and inquisitive. Long, silky dark-brown hair flowed past her bare human breasts all the way down to her… ‘waist’, the beginning of her lower horse-torso. She was lovely beyond comparison. Lowering her instrument, she commenced nickering and making odd syllables at Cloud, as if Sarah wasn’t even there!

‘Are you hurt? Why heard we your fear-call?’

‘Bad things, all around us – then – gone! All-change!’ her mount calmly replied in his own language, as if nothing could possibly be more natural! And Sarah could still understand them!

‘Us? Companion? Where?’ the beautiful creature asked, clearly confused.

‘Here, on me.   Stranger – kind, but not smart.’

Sarah rather resented that remark, and from a horse no less! More hoof-steps were coming now, from the other directions! And why in the worlds couldn’t the centauress-

 _Oh…_ The Stone – she had wished not to be seen: she was invisible to them! The other three were quietly filing in about them. Tiny glowing, colorless faeries that probably weren’t even there except in her mind flew over and sat down in the low branches, clearly amused by the spectacle, getting a good seat for the show!

The centauress took a wary step back, snorting. ‘Human?   With power? Danger?’

‘Human-female. I sense power only now, here, in this place.   But no threat.’

‘Then why?’

‘She feared you also were evil. Now she is wary, but less frightened.’

The centauress peered up in the rider’s direction, narrowing her eyes to slits – there was a momentary lightning-like sense of tangible connection! Sarah gasped!

The centauress gave a gorgeous, pearly smile. ‘She understands us, now, in her power, but knows not how to reply,’ she walked right up to Cloud, looking above the empty-seeming saddle. ‘If friend, come forth,’ she uttered imperiously at the thin air where the rider must be sitting. ‘No danger, unless you start it.’

‘She tries now, I think,’ Cloud answered for Sarah, feeling the oddness above him shifting already.  

 _I wish to be seen_ , she thought, clutching the Stone in both hands, eyes closed, ignoring the irritating pinching sensations of sharp faerie-fingers at the base of her neck.   _Please make me visible again…_   Surprised equine snorts and puffs sounded about her and she cautiously opened her eyes.

‘Human rider,’ the centauress sternly acknowledged her, ‘know that you master none in our forest.   Welcome for his sake,’ she gestured to Cloud. ‘Get off him – now,’ she boldly took the reins from her. ‘He tires of your baggage, your restraints. Carry what you need yourself; he will not be ridden ever again.’

“But how am I supposed to get to even Eregnor without him, let alone Kashfa?!” Sarah blurted in Thari without thinking as she complied, stiffly dismounting; the communication felt enough like regular talking that she didn’t remember it was still only one-sided! “I’ll never make it in time on foot! I don’t even know where I _am_!” she nearly started to cry.

The centauress’ demeanor was stone-cold in the face of Sarah’s panicked outburst, but she reached down and placed her immaculate brown right hand upon the human girl’s forehead with an unmistakable look of concentration.

‘Fresh-come from deadly danger – ambush – and now lost, doubly a stranger,’ she quietly uttered at length. ‘Your confusion is good; we do not wish to be found by humans. I understand not most of your speech, but you made noises we associate with two human places, one not far from here.’ She stopped, stepping back, looking up, sniffing. ‘But your way grows darker – flesh eaters in our forest fear the Greater Light.’ She glanced about – first at Cloud, then the other centaurs, and gave a single great equine nod. ‘Remove the weights from him,’ she pointed from Sarah to the horse. ‘You sleep near our herd tonight. Tomorrow you go to… E-REG-NOR,’ she phonetically pronounced the human region in obvious distaste, the syllables thick on her unpracticed, fixed tongue. Holding Cloud steady, cooing over him, the centauress watched as Sarah carefully removed the saddle, blanket and bags, salvaging what she could from the latter; there was no way she could carry it all besides her own parcel – it was too heavy for her, obviously meant to be a lesson of sorts. The bit and bridle followed at the centauress’ hands while Sarah finished, casting both to the forest floor with force like a statement. Free!

Curious as she was, Sarah had worked to politely keep her eyes mostly to herself; she hadn’t even really seen the creature to her left until the centauress addressed him. And she was sufficiently distracted that the dream-faeries vanished on the spot, forgotten.

‘Night-Without-Silver-Light, are you willing to bear the stranger-human back with us?’

‘I so will, Rain-Shining-Bark,’ the centaur answered definitively.

Sarah turned in his direction… and her eyes just about popped out of her head: he was black – not as Shadow-Earth humans speak of ethnicity, but truly ink-black – from finely sculpted nose to swishing tail, long jet hair cascading down the back of his thickly muscular torso, his strong facial features clean, his panpipes hanging on a cord of braided hair about his neck.   If it were not for the tauntingly haughty aspect in his deep-brown eyes, Sarah would’ve been lost in them.

 _He’s black like Sofi_ , she suddenly thought out-of-the-blue; the incongruent similarity was strangely comforting. Night knelt down before her so that she could mount him more easily; as she did so, he caught her hands in his own long-fingered ones, pulling her far more forward on him than she would’ve thought to ride, wrapping her arms about his flawless human abdomen in an embrace of sorts, a waterfall of silky hair-mane against her front. The emotions Sarah was currently experiencing were a strangely curious mix:   trepidation, consternation… and, as much as she was desperately trying not to think about it, blunt animal attraction; she knew she was going to have to think more charitably about Princess Fiona’s private unorthodox tastes in the future!

Rearing as a unit with a high collective whinny, the company tore off through the woods at full-gallop, clearing undergrowth, dodging thickly dense tree-trunks shaped like sinuous dryads, spooking the odd deer, charging home like wild mustangs – of course, Sarah couldn’t see much of it for the thick hair in her face that she kept trying not to inhale or eat! Looking over her shoulder, she saw Cloud keeping up with them, followed by the last two creatures, a thinly-built red-headed roan female and a muscular palomino male that would’ve given Fabio a run for his money! Their expressions were just this side of feral, though… She sighed, burying her face in Night’s sculpted back, smelling his strange musk, hearing an odd noise through his body that she registered as mocking laughter.

‘You are only half-woman to me, human-female,’ he abruptly informed her quite candidly, making her grateful that her beet-red face was already hidden in his midnight tresses!  

Before long, other equine sounds along with pipe music greeted their ears in the distance; within minutes they reached a rather large, grassy open area near a downward slope that looked like it might’ve been deliberately cleared at one point in time, facing more imposingly tall mountains in the distance… and the main herd, which Sarah was surprised to find comprised of not only centaurs, but more plain horses! _And here I thought I was being weird…_

‘Interbreeding causes inability to foal in the young; we do not,’ Night calmly answered her train-of-thought. ‘We aid all who run away from humans.’

And the general animosity toward her own breed was painfully obvious from the angrily incensed shouts and cries they were getting as he approached:

‘Human?!’

‘You bring an enslaver!’

‘Stinking biped!’

‘Half-person!’

‘Murderer!’

‘Get her away from the foals!’

‘Why here, Night?’

Unbelievable abuse was heaped upon Sarah seemingly from all corners for no other reason than her species!   She would’ve been angry herself had she not been able to feel the intense pain and suffering that lay behind the impassioned hatred and terror. It made her want to vanish into Night’s mane completely, to crumple into a ball and sob her eyes out…

‘ **Enough!** ’ Night-Without-Silver-Light suddenly trumpeted, stamping his front feet, startling Sarah. ‘This human barely knows how to ride a horse-person, and she gives him over to us freely! She rests alone. She leaves at first light by the Winding Path. Any who would harm or pester her during this night, during the long sleep of her kind, will face me.’

Both shamed and humiliated, Sarah clung to Night as he irritatedly stalked out to the edge of the encampment near the drop-off; she now noted that they had sentries posted every fifteen yards around the perimeter, armed with rustic bows and arrows.   They had just caught the attention of a grey one.

‘Just for tonight, Mountain-Summit-Stone,’ Night quickly answered the cautious question in his fellow’s dark eyes. ‘She is alien to the humans of this land and their ways, not KASH-FA,’ he enunciated harshly like the word was a curse, kneeling to let her down. Before he could rise again, Sarah caught his strong right hand, placing it on her forehead as Rain-Shining-Bark had done, doing her best to think clearly and distinctly.

 _I just wanted to let you know I appreciated your standing up for – for defending me – back there,_ she concentrated hard with her eyes closed. _I never meant to cause your people trouble or fear. I wouldn’t be here at all if I wasn’t trying to fix something – a mistake I made – but it’s so complicated I can’t even begin to explain-_

‘Then do not,’ he cut her off quietly, ‘and do not eat the flesh I smell in your bag, only the grain-cakes. Be a flesh-eater again when you are gone from this place,’ he warned her, getting up, letting go of her face with an odd side-stroke of his long black fingers, returning back to the herd. She watched him go, as he greeted his own in various ways – a mixture of humanoid and equine behavior – three nubile females following after him with clear ‘interest’…

Sarah self-consciously looked away toward the sunset over the mountains off to the right, carefully sitting down on the soft, sparkling, sweet-smelling clovered loam where she’d been parked, stealthily removing the Dreamstone – and seeing just how dark the day had truly become – stashing it away, suddenly dead-exhausted and terribly hungry. As per Night’s warning, she made a crude light supper of the hardtack and water. Hopefully the herd had a source of water nearby; she’d need a refill by morning.

It was only after she had recovered somewhat that she finally noticed that in spite of the Stone, she had seen the centaurs as they truly were, coloring and all!

 _They are magical creatures, then_, she mused, watching them dance, playing their eerily beautiful panpipes as the waning moon rose over the treeline, their little children cavorting wildly in a circle toward the center, nickering and whinnying, holding hands…

* * *

 

The young king,

Late one night,

On a pantry raid,

Was ambushed

In the service stairwell

By a ghost

With a crossbow

And hatred in

Eyes that should have been

Blue.

 

The bolt,

Though translucent

Passed clean through

His left shoulder

Producing

Real

Blood,

Causing him to cry out,

“ _Eric!_ You filthy sonofabitch! Don’t you even know how to _die_?!”

 

As he went to wrest the weapon away

His hands passed through it

Like nothing

And at the sound of

Rushing feet and clanking armor

The former king of Amber

Simply made his exit

Through a wall,

Silently laughing.

* * *

 

Morning came _very_ early the next day as a human hand gently shook Sarah from sleep: totally black, handsome features met her eyes as he softly nickered at her, funny little noises somewhere between equine and human speech tumbling about deeply in his throat. Night had obviously not been kidding when he’d personally assured the community that she would be gone by first-light. But she still hadn’t explained…

“Hang on a second,” she yawned, groggily digging the wrapped Dreamstone out of her carryall (she’d used it as a pillow), slipping it out and putting it on-

Making the day _way_ too sparkly-bright for this time of morning… Slowly sitting up, squinting temporarily, she grabbed his hand, pressing it to her head.

 _If any of that was really important you’re going to have to repeat it; I’m sorry, but I can only understand you when I’ve got this thing on,_ she mentally informed him, letting him go; he was seated beside her.

Night’s large, dark eyes widened in sudden comprehension – and of more than what she’d just said – but he uttered not an equine syllable as she staggered off into the trees to do as nature intended; he also had the prudence not to ask anything further about the unknown object as she ate another biscuit before climbing onto his back, positioning the carryall comfortably cross-body.

She suddenly remembered, feeling the contents shift. _The oats_ , she thought with a note of regret.

‘What is the matter?’ Night surprised her – she’d forgotten he could feel her mind in this close of physical contact as well!

She pressed her forehead to his spine, concentrating. _I have extra oats in my bag – for Cloud. I think they were meant as a treat. I have no further reason to carry them without him. Would it be alright if I just let him have them, before we leave?_

Night snorted. ‘I sense you mean no harm by this, but the act may not be perceived kindly. But good food is good food. We will try,’ he clasped her arms about him, approaching the herd, who were already up and awake. ‘Does the horse-person who was named by humans Cloud will to come forward?’ he addressed them.

There were many irritated noises of dissent and derision, but the crowd parted for the cream-colored stallion to approach.

Sarah let go of Night and quickly dug the larger sack of oats out of her carryall; it was easily enough for a full meal.

‘You who were called in bondage Cloud, would you accept food from your former rider one last time?   It will be wasted if you choose not.’

Many non-human variants of ‘Don’t do it!’ filled the air.

‘It is all right – it is a goodbye treat, I know,’ Cloud said simply, looking at Sarah.   ‘Goodbye, strange human-female – I never knew your name, and now it does not matter. Do not fear for me – I befriend easily. I have made many here. If you ever see… no, that does not matter anymore. Thank you for bringing me here; my life will be easy now,’ he unabashedly walked up and nuzzled her before turning away. Tears stood in Sarah’s eyes.

‘Acorn-daughter!’ Night neighed imperiously.

A lovely young centauress the color of the nut subserviently approached. Night took the sack from Sarah and hefted it to the girl-mare, who caught it.

‘See that that one gets all of it,’ he pointed to Cloud. ‘It is his by choice. I quickly return.’

And with that he turned and galloped away with Sarah on his back, down the hill and back into the thick, mythic-looking deciduous trees. The early morning filled the lushly fragrant forest with birdsong:   ‘Up here! Over here! Yes, here!   My plumage shines! I am strong and healthy! Food here! Follow me!   Mate me!’ it went on and on and on…

‘You understand the little air-ones also!’ Night exclaimed excitedly – then caught a whiff of Sarah’s fatigue. ‘It tires you to wear that, as it would not the true owner,’ he guessed intuitively.

 _I know not of this one, but a similar stone tires even the true owner, no matter what,_ she carefully thought in reply. _But it would be rude of me to remove it now._

‘We need not speak; save your strength,’ he answered positively, slowing so that she could safely do what she had to back there, letting go of her arms.

_Wait! Before I do, is there drinkable water nearby? My supply has run out._

‘Yes – this way,’ he changed direction, cantering down a gentle slope covered in thick scrub foliage to a large, slow-moving ravine. Sarah dismounted and refilled her canteen, drinking several mouthfuls with her cupped hands straight from the source; Night stooped to lap also, as long as they were there anyway.

Sarah approached him and leaned her forehead against his humanoid flank.

_If you need to tell me something from here on out, show me, alright?_

He nodded with a teasing frown-smile. His dark eyes watched intently as she lifted the chain up over her head… and the world grew darker for her again, more natural-colored, as she practically sagged in relief where she stood, catching her breath for a moment before putting it away. He helped her onto his back again and they were off.

After everything she had been through in the last couple of days, there was something rather comforting, something inherently humanizing, about just holding someone like this for a long time, as discomfiting as it was that the other half was still rapidly cantering along beneath them like a horse…

Night-Without-Silver-Light just chortled his queer-sounding equine laugh, gripping her arms a little tighter to keep her awake as they plunged headlong through the brush.

Even if Sarah had had any rough idea as to where they had started out, she would have been completely clueless as to where they were by now; not only was the landscape completely unfamiliar, but from many of the directional choices Night had taken she was fairly certain that they were traveling in circles to a certain degree as well, to make good and sure that she could never find her way back to the herd.

The immense unplanned shadow-jump of yesterday that had landed her here still made her wonder:   unlike not wanting to be seen by the centaurs and then wanting to be able to know what they were saying while wearing the Dreamstone – which at least made some modicum of sense to her way of thinking – she had been too scared to even think to wish for anything at all when possibly lethal physical violence had seemed imminent, and she hadn’t even been touching the thing… and it had happened anyway! Had the Stone itself autonomously saved them, sensing the peril somehow? It was quite a thought, one that put her in mind of the true Jewel of Judgment.   Sarah hadn’t dared to put the Dreamstone up to her eye to discern what manner of Pattern lay within, but she was beginning to suspect that attunement to the original bled down into the copies, and if that was so, then… Question led to question terminating in question: there was no end to them.

Sarah had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she was somewhat surprised when Night-Without-Silver-Light slowed, coming to a halt: they had reached the edge of the forest! She was on her own again. The centaur knelt one more time so she could dismount, rising once she was off… and pantomimed her putting on the Dreamstone.

“Oh! You want to tell me something! Right.”

She quickly did this, squinting against the suddenly bright glare of the sun over the open pastureland ahead of them, turning back to him.

Night’s facial expression was imminently readable without any supernatural mediation at all: it was a rather human look of dubious regard.

‘You ponder many strange and wondrous things, human-female – _complicated_ , as you say. You seem good-natured for your kind, but I know not whether to wish you failure or success in what you seem to desire to do, as far as I can understand it. I am not cruel – I am experienced. I have witnessed catastrophes you cannot hold in your mind, that were started by one well-meaning fool-human.’

Sarah gave a mirthless laugh, stepping up, placing his warm hand on her head.

“You behold the fool,” she said aloud also, in Thari. “I go to redress a grievous wrong I was deceived into committing,” she admitted finally.

Night solemnly nodded, snorting. ‘It is not difficult to imagine,’ he gazed down at the Dreamstone, glinting beautifully in the steady light of mid-morning. ‘I must wish you success, I think, insofar as your plans are not detrimental to our herd.   Tell no one of what you have seen here,’ he added sternly.

“I wouldn’t,” Sarah shook her head. “I could never betray you.”

And she knew that if she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget how unbelievably, superhumanly _attractive_ he had been. Never, _ever_.

Night made a humorous scoffing-sound in his throat – and Sarah almost jumped: she’d been so mentally distracted momentarily that she’d forgotten again!

‘Even were you whole-woman to me, you are too skinny for my harem,’ his dark eyes closed with hers, an odd smile of sorts twisting his full, black lips.

“Forgive me! I didn’t mean – it’s only the similarity!   I-”

She forgot to breathe as the centaur leaned down, letting go of her forehead to tilt her chin up to face him from mere inches away!

‘Become sleek and strong, and quickly will you be added to a _man’s_ ’ he uttered throatily in his peculiar language, making her flush down to the neck – then glanced uncertainly down at her necklace again. ‘For your sake, may he be wise.’ Turning her by the shoulders, he pointed out, across the valley. ‘You see signs of humans here: their slave-animals graze freely during the day, but they are taken away at night, by force sometimes.   Yet this is not the place you seek.   Can you see with your shorter human-sight where I point?’

“I think so – beyond that hill just there?”

‘Yes, but you must seek blue flowers like the shining lights of the night-darkness to come to E-REG-NOR,’ he instructed her. ‘We know of the hidden ways between places, also – shadows you name them.   The humans of E-REG-NOR and KASH-FA are not our friends,’ he stated adamantly, ‘but may you find what you need among your own kind. I am finished speaking; take the Stone off. Return to your natural stamina.’

Even at the inevitably slower pace she would be forced to travel now, it was such a relief to know that she was so close, and moving in the right direction, to boot!

‘It _is_ good, to know the way,’ she heard him observe right before the necklace came off again… and she saw just how well he blended into the shadows of the trees. There were no words for the gratitude, the awe that she felt, but she knew he could feel it.

He eyed her a bit archly, down the bridge of his nose, standing up straight and tall again, backing up a pace, then clicked his tongue at her twice, quickly, like one might to get a horse moving, before turning and vanishing back into the forest!

Sarah had to smirk at the light dig – it was probably deserved – as she stepped out into the full sunlight, commencing the long hike across the valley, past the dairy-cows…

 


	5. Towers

Chapter 4 - Towers

“Not far from here my foot,” Sarah irritatedly muttered to herself, slogging through muddy dirt country roads, stepping around the frequent animal doo; the tread of her sneakers was just caked with wet earth to the point that they were getting a little heavy. She chewed her jerky-like ‘flesh’ rations with deliberate spite: of course this trudge was quick for one of equine build!   It was like comparing speed distances by car to how fast a human can walk! Upon gaining the top of the hill without bothering any of the cows (aside of the one that followed her for a short while, which had more bothered _her_ ; if she knew little about horses, she knew nothing of bovine psychology and how to act around one without dangerously upsetting it), Sarah had thought Eregnor proper must lie right on the other side…

She was wrong – or, rather, only partially correct. More farmland greeted her eyes – for _miles_ , the sparse houses widely spaced, mostly off in the distance. Digging out the book again, rechecking the pertinent maps now that she might actually be on one of them, she almost sank to her knees as she finally registered the scale…

To put it rather bluntly, the region of Kashfa and its adjoining environs were _huge_ , more along the lines of a small European country on Shadow Earth, not a compact city-state such as Amber! Quickly flipping to the Amber map, comparing the two places, it would not have been unreasonable to postulate that the True World was like a rock thrown into a pond – no, an epicenter, like an earthquake – and the farther out one got, the ripples of cosmic consequence spread wider and wider…

Until you came up with a country a hundred miles across, most of which would have to _be_ crossed just to get to the capitol!

Giving a muffled scream of aggravation, she stuffed the book back into her carryall and took another sip of water. The prospect of still being so far from any bastion of humanity with her rapidly dwindling food supplies was genuinely scary. She could probably drop dead out here and not be found for days, weeks even, depending on how infrequently these backcountry roads were traveled.

Forcing herself to calm down, Sarah took a deep breath and mentally assessed the situation, what she could technically the theoretically do on her own, what resources she still had at her disposal… and almost smacked herself in the forehead: she’d forgotten, traveling manually as she had been!   It was too obvious! To wit, this world – convincing Order-place that it was – was just as much a shadow as any of the bizarre alien environments she’d been forced to trek through in Lord Suhuy’s wake, to camp out in. To rough it in.

All she had to do was put out her order to the multiverse and it would appear exactly as she willed – _anything_. She just had to believe it strongly enough. Of course, she had never tried doing this with the Pattern before…

 _Don’t pull for it; arrive at it,_ she thought, considering the ‘regular’ modus operandi of the other power source, squaring her shoulders, setting out again with purpose in her stride. _Alright… I want good hiking boots,_ she began, _comfortable, sturdy, won’t give me blisters, made for walkin’… right past that post up there_ , she thought, trying to visualize the world about her as if it were a mere dream that could be lucidly altered in this fashion, hypnotic as the idea was…

But there they were as she approached the stile, in a heap as if tossed there carelessly by someone, nearly hidden in the long grass growing there! They didn’t look new – she hadn’t thought about that possibility – but they did appear to be in decent serviceable condition and in a reasonable approximation of her size, if perhaps just a bit too large. They would do, though. In minutes she had exchanged footwear, hiding her own mud-caked sneakers where the other shoes had been; she looked suspicious enough traveling as she was alone _without_ sporting foreign technological articles of clothing to give her away. It would be even more difficult for someone to follow her tracks now, too, if it were being attempted…

The willing process was repeated two more times: first to procure further rations (fresh bread, fresh cheese, fresh fruit, which tasted like heaven after all that dried stuff!) and then a small purse of silver coins in Kashfan currency, which she quickly secreted upon her person, securing the small leather pouchlet inside the skirt by the ties, leaving a few coins in her bag where she could reach them more easily. She was hoping that it wouldn’t take another day or two (or even three) to reach Jidrash, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared, especially if she came upon the opportunity and means to buy transportation into the city.

A briskly cool wind blew in from the south, a sudden reminder of her current altitude, which was several thousand feet above sea-level, as well as the distance of that sea in regard to the weather-patterns; even at this time of year Kashfa was considerably less temperate than its closest neighbors.   Away from the temperature-stabilizing effect of the forest, it doubtless got rather chilly at night. Wrapping her woolen cloak about her more tightly, Sarah strode on with renewed determination and urgency but no longer panic; the sun nearly stood at zenith yet the houses were becoming more frequent, the land parcels closer and closer together with smaller acreage, so that by and by there were more people as well, working, resting, some even on the rough road. By the time she was working her way through what appeared to be a small ancient-Saxon-style village, a horse-drawn wagon overtook her on the road and she seized her chance, flagging down the driver. The rustic, muscular peasant she beheld regarded her with a healthy level of suspicion from beneath his wide-brimmed straw hat, the sunbaked skin about his brown eyes wrinkled as he scrutinized what he saw as a dubious fare.

“I can pay,” Sarah offered uneasily herself, “I just want to go as far as you’re going. I lost my horse,” she added in all honesty.

The tanned field worker only took a couple seconds longer to decide, head-signaling her to join him up on the bench.

“Thank you so much!” she gushed in relief, climbing up the rig, digging a couple drachms out of her carryall – but the man refused her.

“No, keep your money; I go only to Chota, just five miles distant. Where’re ye bound, stranger?”

“Jidrash.”

The peasant whistled – then lightly whipped his horse to get it moving again. “That’s quite a fair distance from here. Ye must have a reason ta be traveling so far alone?”

“I go to meet with someone,” Sarah sidled the overt query obliquely. “I do need to get there quickly; it’s sort of urgent.”

The man spared her a cautious glance before returning his eyes to the road. “Personal business of some kind, is it then?”

Sarah nodded.

The bulky peasant shrugged.   “Such a journey would be easier for a woman to undertake spaced over two or three days to not be so tiring, but if you’re in as much of a hurry as all that, ye may well be able to make it by nightfall if the god Luck be with you – if not, then surely by the following morning if you travel on without rest.”

The unusual steel behind Sarah’s eyes, in her slight nod of acknowledgement, was far more telling than anything she would’ve said and the man knew it, flicking his horse again to make it go a bit faster.

Seeing the whip being used so casually on that sole beast, who was carrying not only the cart, the cargo of vegetables and the weight of his driver, but her own additional poundage, Sarah couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty: ‘slave-animals’, indeed – they passed a much heavier dairy cart being pulled by a pair of oxen. But at the same time, she understood that this world was likely founded upon labor, of both men and beasts. These people were only using what they had at hand, likely some better than others, but still. It was doubtless uncommon knowledge that their mounts, their beasts of burden, were genuinely intelligent, possessing not only a sense of self but of community and purpose. They were mostly just the ‘engines’ upon which this society ran. As were these lower-class ‘people of the land.’

At the necessarily slow speed of the wagon – in spite of the driver’s best efforts – their journey to the next township over took the better part of an hour. Sarah thanked him again, staying only long enough to buy some better travel garments and to ask around to locate a merchant on his way to the big city to sell his wares – being directed to a tinker, loaded down with pots, pans, kettles, and any number of housewares forged from steel, tin and copper… and he was obviously prosperous enough to own a proper-sized draft-horse for his vehicle: that sold it for her. The somewhat overweight, middle-aged, dark-visaged medieval businessman was definitely less tender-hearted than the poor farm hand (who probably could’ve used the money more, even though he refused it again in the end), demanding what seemed to Sarah to be a king’s ransom in advance for the mere bother of her company; once the stated amount was carefully handed over, however, his demeanor instantly switched into something far more amicable, and he told her to get in the back of his closed rig with a conspiratory glint in his hard, grey eyes, allowing that she could consume some of the food and wine in there so long as she left him a decent amount.

Sarah was certainly a little nervous as she entered the vardo-like trade wagon, piled to almost overflowing with its owner’s merchandise, but at least there were small wooden window-shutters on either side, and if she was careful not to get conked in the head by the pans swinging from the ceiling and walls she could actually see a bit of where they were going.

If Amber had superficially borne a certain idealized resemblance to some of the nicer parts of renaissance Europe on Shadow Earth, then it might’ve been fair to state that Kashfa and its surrounding region more closely resembled Europe’s Dark Age, complete with the colder weather. Turreted greystone fortresses stood here and there about the landscape as they wove in and out of the mountains along the valley floor, with serf villages squatting about their bases. Kashfa’s baronies and earldoms had been the root of several civil wars in their past history, long before the coming of the mysterious red-headed sorceress named Jasra who took old King Menillian – and subsequently his kingdom – by guile… and then held it by force, both manpower and magic. And after that were the military coups; politically, the place had been nowhere that anyone sane would’ve wanted to be traveling at all, between the unrest and the rebel forces of yet another bastard son of Amber named Dalt who were abroad pillaging the countryside, but with Rinaldo Barimen safely on the throne things had basically calmed down again over the last few years.   The older power hierarchies were all still there, though, and far more numerous than any king of Amber ever had to put up with. These people still had an honest-to-god feudal system going! And none of this even began to touch the long-standing feud between Kashfa and Begma over Eregnor, the land rich both in soil and mineral deposits, the former envied by Kashfa, the latter coveted by both.

The wagon jolted on the road, forcing Sarah to crouch again as the pots and pans swung freely. Dark clouds had been steadily gathering and by mid-afternoon they let loose their contents in a real skin-drencher, the dewpoint having felt uncomfortably humid for a good half-hour prior, heavy drops pummeling the wooden roof and sides of the vehicle, sneaking through the cracks of the shutters as the wind blew it almost sideways at one point. After a while the wagon gradually came to a halt and the back door opened.

“There’s no going forward in this cursed weather!” the merchant addressed her, quickly grabbing a large folded-up tarp for his horse and ducking back out with it before getting inside himself a minute later, water sopping from the relatively nice fabrics of his garments, his elaborate felted trade-hat a sagging, sorry-looking thing; he wrung both it and his long cloak out on the ground before closing the door, setting light to a small oil lantern. “The road’s all water. Hopefully it will not last long; these kinds of storms blow in and out fairly quickly this time of year.” He took an unopened wineskin and placed it to his chapped lips thirstily for a few seconds, sighing in relief afterwards. Then turned to Sarah with a little smile. “Holding up back here all right? Safe and snug and dry in this movable little burrow, my home away from home?”

“Yes, quite. Thank you,” she carefully replied.

He watched her a moment.   “I wouldn’t have dared say a word at first when you propositioned this of me, but there is no disguising that you are truly a stranger to our land, possibly even to our _world_ – no, don’t be alarmed, such possibilities are widely acknowledged in Jidrash, if not all of Kashfa. No woman here travels alone as you do, much less willingly with a complete stranger.   I took you on as much out of curiosity as for the profit. I am right?   Your accent also gives you away.”

Sarah turned away self-consciously. “I didn’t realize I _had_ an accent,” she admitted embarrassedly. She suddenly looked back to him. “Is that a bad thing here?” she asked seriously, suddenly not sure just whose he was hearing!

“Perhaps not,” he grinned a bit more widely, exposing a bit of dental gold in his mouth, “although I confess I have only heard similar to yours once, in a public address from our previous queen, herself a foreigner from gods-know-where. Kashfan Thari was obviously not her first language, either,” he helped himself to the food stores.

Sarah couldn’t let this man know at all where she was from – or anywhere she’d _been_ , for that matter – but she could well understand his questions, especially since he hadn’t even asked for her name.

“Thari is not my first language,” she confirmed, “and the version I know I learned very far from here.”   She thought for a moment; her current companion seemed cosmopolitanly broad-minded enough to handle this much.   “As long as you don’t tell anyone, my home world is one of the technological ones,” she tried experimentally, seeing if she could steer the conversation into what would amount to relatively harmless (and potentially distracting) generalities.

“Oh, indeed!” he exclaimed between bites. “I have heard whisper of such places on my long trade circuit. Lots of manmade power and machines but no magic?”

“It seems that way mostly.”

He nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me. Although, knowing this, I can’t help but wonder what brings you all the way out here? This world must seem so backward to you! Is there something special about Jidrash that the rest of us don’t know?” he pressed only half-teasingly.

Sarah looked down at her lap unconsciously. At the carryall. And caught herself.   Looking back up, she saw that the merchant’s shrewd, bright eyes had followed hers. She smirked. “Oh, fine, it’s a small piece of business, I guess you could say. With the king, hopefully.”

His eyes quickly met her own again, suddenly wary, serious. “There _is_ more to you than meets the eye. Your ‘business’ means nothing deleterious for Kashfa, I sincerely hope?”

“No,” she answered affirmatively. “If anything, it might stand Kashfa better…” She let the sentence die, abruptly self-censoring, afraid she’d already said too much!

But the clever businessman could guess. “With another world, perhaps?” he plied foxily. “Better than our neighbors, Amber or no Amber? Ah well, I shouldn’t pry; you mean us well,” he demurred – and suddenly furrowed his great salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “You don’t have any identifying papers on you, do you; they aren’t needed where you’re from probably, but they are in Jidrash,” he bluntly put to her. It wasn’t a question.

Sarah sighed, wincing her eyes closed; she _had_ forgotten. “No,” she said through gritted teeth – then looked right at him.   “Think I should forge some quick before we get there? What do they need to look like?”

The great eyebrows rose high. “While I think I would pay good money to see how you would do this, if your intended business is with the king it would be better for you to plead ignorance of the law in this case.   It _does_ mean that I am going to have to bribe the guards at the city gate to let you pass as my niece from Eregnor, but I had planned on that contingency anyway; I had to make sure you could afford it before taking you on,” he eyed her slyly. “And it isn’t every day I smuggle foreign invaders into the capitol, even one as attractive and harmless-seeming as you, and I wanted to see what you were really up to before doing so.”

“Understandable,” she laughed, “but I’m not here to start anything nasty, honest.”

“Don’t say ‘honest’ like that – it makes people suspect that you _aren’t_ ,” he lectured sternly.   “And once we’re there, you never saw me in your life. Understand _that_?”

She nodded earnestly.

“Good,” he cracked a smile.   “From the sounds of it outside, we should be moving again in about a quarter-of-an-hour. May it not fall upon my head to be holding up progress!   And even if you think me backward, I am not so dense as to have missed that conversational hook you threw out a few minutes ago. Entertain me with tales of your favorite inventions already and I’ll split dessert,” he offered, unearthing a hidden paperboard parcel from one of the side compartments, containing a thick slab of honeyed flake pastry, producing a knife from his belt to divide it cleanly in two.

As Sarah did her best to relate being on a passenger aircraft and being able to be entertained however one wished at practically any time electronically with music, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the man was quietly enjoying the companionship of a young woman at the moment, that he had had private reasons for taking this risk himself. But even though he was definitely _looking_ , at least he was keeping his hands to himself, she mused – possibly even out of fear, of what she might be capable of doing to him if he went too far! And neither was she about to do or say anything to undeceive him on that particular point; it was a neat and clean little insurance policy against her person.   Once the rain audibly lessened to a sporadic patter, he reluctantly exited the wagon, extinguishing the lamp before he went.

“Too great a fire hazard while we’re moving,” he explained. Sarah could not see his face in the brief darkness that followed in the second before he opened the door, but she certainly felt the fire in his eyes…

A moment later she was alone again, and a little while after that the wagon jolted into forward motion.  

 _Well, it could be worse_ , she reflected, licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers – something she wasn’t about to do in front of him! She couldn’t have dreamed of pulling this hitchhiking stunt on her home-shadow and walking away totally unscathed. It had been a really desperate move, but it did seem that Luck was with her after all; she hadn’t even thought of the possibility of getting all the way to the city just to be turned away! The concept of the guarded, walled metropolis was still foreign enough to her that she didn’t automatically register the implications of dealing with them. She considered herself lucky that the country had universal currency, and not one that changed from region to region, as did a few shadow-worlds beyond this one, according to the book, with differently stamped coins for every noble!   Looking down at herself, she conceded that she _did_ stand out a bit if for no other reason than she was wearing a blouse and riding trousers in a world where women of all stations wore long dresses and head-coverings, even devices comparable to a wimple! She had chosen the articles for utility, not camouflage; perhaps she should’ve given the latter a little more thought, but it was too late now.

At least it didn’t appear to be too late in the day outside: it might’ve been late afternoon/early evening, with them still rolling and jostling through town after hamlet after town, such as they were (some of the communities here might’ve been at subsistence-level, and as such, of no interest to the businessman, for they hadn’t the coin for his wares), small farms and thatched roofs and houses on small stilts to keep out both rain and vermin. Modest clothing, mostly undyed wool and leathers it looked like, but a few tradesmen abroad were better off – like the tinker she was traveling with.

The disc of the sun had just begun to skirt the mountainous horizon when a couple of raps on the front of the wagon startled her… but it was just the tinker.

“Look out of the left window if you aren’t already as we turn!” he yelled back at her.

Holding the swinging cookware still above her, Sarah cautiously did so – and gasped: there, almost to the far mountains, was an immense turreted city, divided into three concentric walled areas one would have to pass on the way up to the top! The whole structure completely engulfed a very high hill; perhaps it had once been a lower mountain peak! Perched up at the pinnacle were several tall stone buildings, but the complex was difficult to distinguish visually from this distance…

 _Jidrash!_ She thought excitedly. _It has to be!_ Founded eons ago upon a faint echo of Kolvir…

The wagon turned again and the vista disappeared from view, replaced with more sheep pasture. At this rate it would definitely be night by the time they reached the place. Sarah yawned, sitting back down on the wagon-bed. There were a couple of pillows in one corner, along with a rolled-up pallet, and it only took her a second or two longer to decide to use them:   she couldn’t afford to be tired no matter what befell her in the city, and the bed of the wooden wagon was simply too hard to lie down on. It did take her about a minute to realize just how the pillows needed to be situated in the moving, rocking, shockless vehicle, however: one to the left of her head, one to the right, propped against boxes so that she wouldn’t get an accidental concussion while she was asleep! In spite of the fact that she knew she had to try, Sarah was rather doubtful whether she could actually nod off this way, even with the shutters closed, but the relatively consistent, repetitive motions of the old-fashioned wagon prevailed upon her stubborn consciousness in the end. It probably wasn’t all that unlike being at sea, with the boat rocking back and forth…

She awoke much later with a start from the feeling of being stared at! The back door of the wagon stood open, the sky outside perfectly plastered with brilliant stars. The tinker was crouched to her right…

“I usually take umbrage at my possessions being used without my permission,” he began, lighting the lamp, “but the occasion of finding a strange, pretty woman in my bed is sadly rarer than it once was,” he gave her a foxy smile as she quickly scrambled to sit back up, her face flushed! “This is our last stop before we come to the city gates; do what you need to,” he advised her, giving her room, then a hand up to stand, her legs a bit unsteady at first.   “You _have_ given me a good idea for how to get you in, however. Can you pretend to be ill?”

As she disembarked, Sarah took in the drastic change in scenery: they seemed to be parked in the midst of a wooded brake with tall mountains towering over their heads, the outline of the range to the west just barely discernable in the deep blue afterglow of the tail-end of dusk, all below them shades of blackness and thrown shadow. But across a short valley lay the high, manned, ivy-covered outer fortifications of Jidrash, though she could not see the gate from where they were…

“I think I could,” she called back from where he’d pointed out to her, before turning back to the wagon; the man’s Clydesdale had his bit out and was currently munching from a feedbag.   Upon re-entering the vehicle, she saw that the tinker had produced a deck of tarot cards and was in the middle of telling a fortune, but whether it was his or hers she didn’t know. She knew enough of the art to read them, however: she briefly saw what might’ve been The Fool, The Tower, and The World in the dim light, covering several others… was that Death’s sickle sticking out beneath the pile of drawn cards?

Upon hearing her enter, the merchant looked up at her almost with regret, but all he said was, “The life of a messenger, eh?” before recasing his deck with care.

So it _had_ been hers.   “I’m afraid so.”

“You should be,” he uttered direly. “Watch your front as much as your back,” he warned, passing her a wineskin as she sat down.

Their quick, shared evening meal was silent.

Once it was finished, he unrolled the pallet again and had her lie down upon it with one of the pillows wedged under her head, draping her in a couple of heavy woolen blankets; that, coupled with her cloak and warm garments, almost instantly made her far too hot. She moved to lower them, but he insistently covered her, up to the chin.

“You must feign a bad fever – we must make it convincing. When the guard opens up the back, you cannot show the slightest alarm or even awareness, but pretend delirium. You can do this?”

She nodded. He extinguished the lamp.

“Think on those things that I have seen make you blush,” he openly flirted in a deep register, “and you’ll be inside the city before you know it.”

The door closed, making it unbearably stifling in the wagon in spite of the night chill just outside, as the vehicle slowly nosed back out onto the road at a more careful pace.   In the space of the quarter-of-an-hour it took them to reach the gates, Sarah was simply drenched in sweat, her face red without having to think on a single embarrassing or compromising incident!   She did, however, reflect that the tinker’s rather cavalier attitude toward her did reinforce Gilva Hendrake’s old warning: that for much of the spectrum of existence away from the center-shadows, it was still a man’s world out here.

When the wagon came to a halt, Sarah was excited for a moment, then forced herself to breathe shallowly as if from the flu or pneumonia as she heard the sounds of argument commence just outside, forcing her eyes to unfocus, her thoughts to drift…

“Then _you_ tell _me_ what I should have done!” the tinker’s voice was raised in a decent mimic of righteous outrage, as he opened the back door. “Take a look for yourselves, but don’t get too close!   These country doctors aren’t worth a damn coin when it’s something that actually matters – careful of the pans!” he exclaimed as the torchlight swung a bit too high. Sarah weakly coughed once for effect and commenced quietly mumbling nonsense about her mother; the door closed and she kept the performance up until the footsteps went away and the wagon started to move again. The vehicle almost instantly started to jostle harder, making the metal accoutrements surrounding her rattle and jingle loudly: they were rolling over cobblestone streets! Up and up and up they went; Sarah kicked off the blankets in a puddle of sweat!   She could only assume that the streets were mostly deserted. It was rather quiet outside for a city; perhaps only one or two establishments with raucous voices emanating therein… taverns, of course. What else would be open this late in a medieval metropolis?   And still they climbed, gradually turning in the same direction, spiraling slowly upwards in a generous corkscrew.

Sarah was caught offguard when the wagon suddenly turned around, then backed up to the right, coming to a halt. Rapidly grabbing at the blankets again, she recommenced her previous act – but the merchant was alone as he opened the back door. And quietly chuckled, seeing her.

“I would’ve believed you were on your deathbed myself,” he whispered, folding the blankets off of her.   “Wherever did you ever learn to do that? Not from experience, I hope?”

Sarah grinned at the compliment, sitting up. “I’m training to be an actress – when I’m back home.”

“I’d believe that, too; it serves you well already.”

She fumbled for her carryall, having trouble locating where it had gotten shoved off to in the dark… but the man handed it to her, helping her up and out. They appeared to be in a thin service alley of sorts, just off the wide main drag, not unlike Amber.

“Now,” he whispered in her ear, walking her out to the street, “all you have to do is follow this way straight up through the third gate – which isn’t manned in peacetime.   In the plaza are the king’s castle, the Cathedral of the Unicorn, the jail, and a secondary government building, among other things that don’t concern you. If the king refuses to see you at this hour, spend the night in the Cathedral – they never turn away the weary with nowhere to go – but do not _sleep_ there; a few thefts have occurred this way, even with the presence of the priestesses,” he glanced down at her bag. “Request audience, then, in the morning, should it come to that. Beyond this I cannot help you – in fact, I will have to feign that you died when I leave the city again, most likely.   Unless you would care to arrange a _rendezvous…_ ”

Sarah took one careful step away from him, but smiled politely, shaking her head no. “I have to do this on my own. But thanks anyway.”

The tinker brought the back of her hand to his lips – then darted in, kissing her cheek!

“Good luck, machine-lady,” he whispered with a smile, letting her go. “Keep your hood up; I don’t think you realize it, but you’re dressed like a man.”

“Women wear trousers also where I’m from,” she shot back at him… but nevertheless did as he suggested, quickly heading away from him up the cobblestone road. Glancing back, she saw the outline of the shop symbol where the tinker’s wagon was parked: an apothecary. She grinned at the ruse, shoving down her remaining discomfort from the situation she had just exited, and hiked on, grateful for the bit of real rest she’d gotten earlier. The moon here wasn’t as large and clear as it was in Amber, and yet it was still moreso than on Shadow Earth, steadily climbing into the heavens. The outer barrier wall was at least fifty feet high, completely obstructing any view of what might’ve been below, the one above obstructing the summit…

It felt like she’d been trudging for years by the time she reached the third gate. Just as described, four gigantic structures dominated the plaza, with a handful of smaller buildings spread out around the periphery. Steadying her nerves, she strode across the open flagstone courtyard bold as brass, straight up to the armored castle guards at the door.

“Visiting hours are over until tomorrow at noon!” the one to the left announced at her approach.   “His Majesty’s schedule is booked solid! Go home or to an inn!” he tried to shoo her away.

But Sarah would not be shooed. “I have extremely important business with His Majesty; I fear it cannot wait,” she insisted.

At the sound of her voice one of them peered closer… then seemed rather surprised that she was a woman!   “Look, if it’s _this_ important, you want a favorable pronouncement, right?” he offered a little patronizingly.   “If I were to beg him to come out here right this minute, you wouldn’t get one! If it’s a husband or other relative you’re running from, the Church will grant you sanctuary until whatever necessary separation it is be settled,” he gestured widely toward the Cathedral. Sarah could just make out the stone-engraved sign in the moonlight – First Unicornian Church of Kashfa – and it was all she could do to keep from spontaneously doubling over with laughter! But this was deadly serious. Maybe she _should_ wait… no, she couldn’t. She’d lost too much time already!

“Are you sure there isn’t any way I could convince you otherwise? Tomorrow may be too late!”

Swords were loosened in the scabbards. “Look, lady, I don’t doubt you’ve got a bone to pick with _somebody_ to be bothering us this badly at this hour, but it’s unseemly to have to be rough with a woman, so I’ll warn you we have our orders. Whatever it is, it can’t be worth _this_! Come back in the afternoon! That’s your final-”

Sarah tore into the carryall and withdrew the sack with the Dreamstone in it; it was a risky move, but if this was what it would take-

Her arms were instantly pinned behind her as they jumped her, pressing her face-first against the iron-reinforced doors, wrenching the item out of her hands!

“For the love of all that’s holy, don’t _break_ it!” she screamed in terror!

There was the sound of gently clinking metal, followed by a long dead silence. The strong hands that held her arms behind her back began to physically _shake_ …

The heavy doors opened before her, leading into an immense greystone hall as she was bodily hauled along by her upper arms, guards on each side of her, the one to her right gripping the sack with the Stone in his iron-clad fist! She was force-marched past a veritable parade of heraldic banners to her right, a dozen or so mounted marked shields to her left, the dim room lit only by sporadic torches and a monstrous fireplace that took up the entire back wall… behind the thrones, of course. A third armored soldier, who must’ve been behind them, walked quickly over to a liveried servant Sarah hadn’t seen standing in the shadows, who in turn tore off out of the room like his tabard was on fire!

“You’re having your audience, lady,” the guard to her left informed her, “and if you’re a spy as I think you are, you’ll wish you’d cleared out when you had the chance!”

But Sarah held her tongue:   this was what she had wanted… well, not _quite_ like this, but she would know sooner rather than later just how much trouble she was really in, whether she was barking up the wrong tree at a resting demon, as it were…

In minutes the servant came back, all but running across the hall – and in his train was King Rinaldo, in a green smoking jacket! Sarah’s heart leapt at the sight of his familiar face unbidden – then had to quickly remind herself that this man didn’t know her from Eve, even if she was on speaking terms with one of his Pattern-ghosts! Currently he looked none too pleased at being disturbed, as she’d been warned!

“Forgive this untimely intrusion, your Majesty,” the guard to Sarah’s right bowed low, “but an object without price is delivered unlooked-for into your exalted hands this night,” he reverently passed off the small parcel. The king opened it, took one look inside, and instantly wrapped it back up, his green eyes blazing as he took in the curious sight of his captive, who had wisely decided to study the paving stones under her feet.

“She stays – the rest of you withdraw. Now!” the eerily familiar voice pronounced with authority. The guard to her left offered his liege his blade and it was accepted with the slightest nod of acknowledgement. In less than thirty seconds the two of them were alone. The king huffed quietly, definitely irritated.

“I’m going to start out with a painfully obvious question: do you, by any chance, have any blood relation to the noble house of Barimen?”

“No.”

“Thank the gods, this can be easy,” he raised the weapon to behead her!

“But my _original_ does!” she cried out in alarm!

Rinaldo gave an exhausted sounding groan, lowering the sword, closing his eyes for a moment.   “Alright, spy… whoever-you-are… it is _way_ too late to be having this conversation, but somehow I can’t imagine it improving with age. I’m going to need a drink, though… no, wait – what I need is coffee. Do you drink coffee wherever-the-hell-it-is you’re from? Do you know what it is?”

“Yes,” Sarah clearly answered, nodding, still a bit shaken.

“Then you’re having one, too,” he motioned her nearer the fireplace with the tip of his blade, carefully following; the thrones had neatly hidden a small circular wooden table and two stuffed leather chairs from the angle of approach. Seating herself in the one she was gestured toward – to the right – the king took her carryall from her, perusing its contents with his free hand whilst keeping her covered, flipping through the geography tome in clear disbelief. He finally put down the rapier behind his chair, raising his hands toward her.   “I’m checking for hidden weapons, spells, etcetera – also obvious,” he clarified; Sarah shivered, feeling the strange power probing both her person and her energy field! But he abruptly withdrew it – somehow she sensed that the action had been aborted! He was _really_ staring now, looking a little embarrassedly cowed!

“…I suddenly feel I should be making your acquaintance instead,” he started again guardedly, lowering his arms. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both, please.”

Sarah watched as he formed a Logrus hole and came up with two large steaming mugs in seconds, sliding hers across the table, the king even more bemused by the sudden expression of bittersweet reminiscence that had just come over her features.

“Is Thari your native language?”

“No – American English.   And… I had come here to ask a _boon_ of you, your Majesty, concerning _that_ artifact. You see-”

But he put up a hand to stop her, taking a sip. “I can already tell this is gonna be way too convoluted a problem,” he answered her in American English, “so, as the man said, start at the beginning, and when you get to the end, stop. And let me get some caffeine into my system while you do so.”

This was getting to be a rather uncomfortably usual course of events for Sarah, but she really was doing her best to learn from previous ‘interviews’ of a similar nature, getting the feel for certain details that she could gloss over without undue attention; she had a lot to cover this time!

Of course, she also couldn’t help feeling that this might well be her most dangerous audience to date, and in more ways than the first! Even without his old man’s psychological problems, it was obvious that Rinaldo Barimen (who actually looked somewhat younger still than his cousin Merlin, living out here on the ‘slower’ side of things timewise) had inherited his father’s intellectual acumen and mental powers of absorption, casually taking in everything that came out of Sarah’s mouth as he sat there, stopping her periodically to ask for a little more information on one point or another, incongruently acting for all the world like an old friend she had just ran into at a street café rather than someone who would’ve killed her without a second thought fifteen minutes ago… that would be the ‘salesman’ she had heard tell of.

There were a few instances where the act didn’t hold up, however, most notably when she mentioned the ‘borrowing’ of a horse from the Arden encampment…

“I realize you come from a society where the automobile is king – or prince, at least – when it comes to personal transportation, but you have to understand that horse-stealing out on this side of the spectrum is basically analogous to Grand Theft Auto, if said auto had a personality and a spirit along with its locomotive power,” he lectured her roundly. “I can almost understand _your_ ignorance on this point, but your original knows this! It baffles me that she even thought it was necessary when you could’ve literally just walked here… unless she doubted your shadow-walking capabilities. Or you did.”

Sarah couldn’t meet his judgmental gaze, glancing off to the fire, uncomfortably guilty.

“If I actually agree to help you, you are returning that horse personally, and explaining to Prince Julian what you did and why,” he uttered sternly.

“I… can’t do that,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the arm of her chair.

“Why?”

“I… lost him in the woods,” she offered lamely.

Rinaldo leaned back into his high-backed chair, cradling his mug in his hands. “By ‘lost’, do you really mean lost, or do you mean ‘liberated’ by the centaurs who don’t live in the forest northeast of Eregnor, just on the other side of the shadow-border?” he flatly asked her.

Sarah’s eyes involuntarily widened as she turned back to stare in dumb shock. The king pursed his lips in disgust, nodding.

“I hate having to go after native magical creatures on a number of levels, but those horse-people are getting to be a damn nuisance; they’ve begun doing more than collecting strays – luring animals off private land, even breaking into some outlying stables in the middle of the night. I won’t be able to keep denying their existence much longer if they keep it up, especially with eyewitness reports coming in. If only somebody could talk some sense into them, but they don’t even _speak_!”

“They do,” Sarah quietly corrected him; it was his turn to look shocked! “But I don’t think you’d get very far with any of them.   They really are sort of like animal-liberation guerillas, come to think of it – it’s almost funny; I would’ve never thought of something like that being _here_. It must feel really personal to them, for them to keep taking those sorts of risks.”

The small wadded-up sack with the Dreamstone in it lay between them on the table; from the look in the king’s fern-green eyes, she knew he knew, or at least guessed at how she had successfully communicated with them. Continuing to watch her reactions, he leaned forward, setting his mug down on the table, opening the sack, gently sliding its contents out onto the polished darkwood surface; the Stone gleamed and glinted with ghostly pallor even in the warmth of the firelight. When he went to pick it up, his fingers passed straight through the chain!  

“Shit! Just as advertised!” he exclaimed, laughing.   “Hold it up for me then, so I can get a better look.”

Warily, Sarah complied, feeling the electrical tingles arcing up her arms again as she lifted the heavy silver chain so that the Stone would fall straight…

But Rinaldo hadn’t meant looking with his eyes: Sarah felt his powers sweep about her form, her mind, the Stone – it was over nearly as soon as it had begun! She caught her breath, startled!

“Fascinating,” was all he said though, taking a large swallow of his coffee. “Alright, you can put it back.”

Sarah was sorely tempted to put it _on_ , vanish, and get the hell out of here! But if the king of Kashfa had _that_ kind of power at his disposal, on top of Pattern-based shadow-tracking abilities and the stamina of the Barimen clan, she wouldn’t so much as make it out of this room under her own power! She did rewrap it, but tried to hold it in her lap afterwards, still fiddling with the cloth.

“On the _table_ if you would be so kind; this has to be a matter of mutual trust between us, or at least mutual understanding,” he commented coolly with a muted glance of reproval, watching as she sullenly replaced the sack where it had been. He was silent for a beat or two, thinking.   “Well… I’m willing to treat this matter as a simple, political transaction on your part – provided that you’re not planning to double-cross me,” his eyes were suddenly quietly dangerous.

Sarah vigorously shook her head no; he visibly relaxed.

“Alright then; no more funny business. I guess I don’t blame you for not wanting to blindly trust me, what with the continuing Barimen family reputation for screwing over innocent people whenever it suits us, but even from that angle I stand to gain little by hurting you now – you’re safe on that count. And I’d be a fool to turn down an opportunity like this. That crazy, rarified trinket you’ve been hauling all over the countryside is a very valuable bargaining chip as far as Amber and her king are concerned; I can’t even remember our being in such a good position to potentially gain better standing in our alliance with them on all counts.”

“So… forgive this if it’s impertinent, your Majesty,” Sarah guardedly cut in, “but you _do_ actually mean to return the Stone, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Rinaldo easily replied, setting down his emptied mug beside it. “I’ve no desire to see Order horribly disrupted somehow – I live too close, for one thing, and I have a friend or two in the True City for another.   But at the same time I wouldn’t dream of handing such a valuable piece off to King Random for free, especially if getting it back where it came from is going to be as potentially dangerous as you imply. With Aunt Fiona out of the area, he’s simply no match for a trained sorceress from Chaos, and a Logrus initiate at that,” he stood up, and Sarah did likewise, putting down her own mug (it had been too much for her to drink in one sitting, not to mention at this time of night.)

“You’d be willing to risk the actual return _yourself_?!” she asked, amazed.

“There isn’t exactly a line of suitable candidates for the job trying to break down my uncle’s door,” he answered wryly. “I’m not going to be rushed into making rash spur-of-the-moment decisions about something this serious, though. Let me sleep on it. I’ll pull my connections and get the ball rolling. Normally I’d send a messenger on ahead, but this is just the type of message that gets servants killed, or could even start a war if handled improperly.   You and I will be journeying to Amber together – I’ll need you for a witness at least. And once I’ve whittled the charges against you down to banishment for life, I’ll see that you get home alright. Now, how’s that sound? Fair?”

“Fine, I guess,” Sarah nodded. “It’s a lot better than I would’ve done on my own! When would you be planning on leaving, then?”

“Possibly tomorrow afternoon at the very earliest – like I told you, there are things that need to happen first on my end. I’ll have to coach you along the way, on what to say and do once we’re in the king of Amber’s presence; you’ll have to lean heavily on the ‘crazy idealistic kid’ angle in spite of your age, I think; that one’s gotten some mileage out of him in the past. It’s been centuries since Uncle Random saw eighteen years, more-or-less, and the older one gets the younger everyone else starts to seem. Practically everyone in Amber – at least the majority of the mature populace – is so long-lived that he isn’t as used to this subjective phenomenon as most adults from your home-shadow get to be. I wouldn’t plan on getting off scot-free, though; I hope you can pull together the necessary finances to continue your own higher education, should it come to that. And for the future you need to have an emergency hotline fixed up with one of us, should you get into trouble again and need help getting out of it in a hurry.   In fact…” He rummaged around in the lower-left pocket of the lounging jacket for a moment. “Here.”

Sarah looked down with a very high level of suspicion at the small, methane-blue crystalline chunk of stone in his hand.

“You need _one_ of us on your side,” he continued, “by my logic it doesn’t really matter which one.   As far as I’m concerned, you’re in good standing with me and my kingdom at present; I’m not so sure you could claim that of either Amber or Chaos and their respective monarchs at the moment.”

Sarah only considered the prospect for a half-second before shaking her head no. “With all due respect, your Majesty, I’ve grown downright paranoid about carrying or wearing objects like that; the ‘help’ usually comes with a hefty, hidden price tag.”

Rinaldo had to smile at that. “That’s probably true most of the time,” he conceded, “and it’s actually healthy to be leery like that, but the way I’d look at it you’ve already paid for this service on my end; there’s no reason for me to charge you any further. You’re just collecting on it; a finder’s fee if you like. And this particular item – which is called a tragolith, for your information – can be utilized without _any_ intermediary:   all you have to do is shadow-walk hanging onto it, concentrating on it, and you will reach a safe and accessible place that can withstand just about any kind of trouble in the known multiverse.   Sure you won’t reconsider?”

Sarah was sorely tempted… then had to sternly remind herself that Rinaldo Barimen had been a computer salesman on Shadow Earth after college. Being able to convince people they wanted what he was pushing had been his job for many years. And she felt fairly certain that there was a lot more to be explained here that he was carefully keeping his mouth shut about. She firmly shook her head no before she could change her mind.

The king shrugged.   “I had to try,” he pocketed it again.   “You’re on your own for that one, then, and I still think it’s really inadvisable, but it’s your life. Do keep the possibility in mind, though, as long as you’re with me, just in case you change it. Did you have any objections to me putting you up here for the night, or do you already have other arrangements?”

“Somewhere to sleep would be greatly appreciated,” Sarah picked up her carryall – and the sack.

It did not go without notice. Rinaldo thought a moment.   “How would you feel if I locked up the goods until we ship out, but let _you_ hang onto the key? That way there’s no way it can disappear or get misplaced – or used, by either of us. Just as an all-around general safety and insurance precaution? I’ll even let you put it in yourself.”

Sarah could’ve easily argued that a man of his obvious powers was likely a match for any standard safe, but there was probably no point to doing so; the objection would go nowhere constructive and she desperately needed the help in spite of any personal misgivings she might have about his methods. At least he seemed proficient in what he was about.

“I guess that’s fine,” she answered noncommittally.

The king of Kashfa seemed to choose to deliberately overlook her milquetoast lack of enthusiasm over the prospect by continuing on as if she had given positive assent.

“You look like you’re too worn down for the grand tour, but you’ll get to see a little of this old pile on our way down to the in-house extension of the Treasury,” he announced, sounding rather like a proverbial tour-guide as he belted the borrowed sword on his right side – Sarah suddenly realized that he must be left-handed! – before leading her down one of the branching side corridors to their left, grabbing a torch from the wall in passing.

The ceilings were high, the floors could’ve been more even in places, the halls were definitely cold in spite of the tapestries, most of which were faded from extreme age; she wrapped her wool cloak about herself more tightly. And had to laugh a little.

“What is it?”

“Oh… reality, I guess.   I used to love medieval fantasy stuff when I was little – all the cool castles and fortresses and knights in armor to go with the princesses and princes, fairies, dragons, and all the rest of it.”

“And don’t forget wizards – that’s the best part; we still have those,” Rinaldo couldn’t resist chiming in. “But nobody ever told you about what a pain in the ass it is to try to get a stone fortress properly heated and insulated if you don’t have practically limitless power at your disposal, electrical or otherwise,” he nodded, “that those picturesque-looking, heavy velvet-and-ermine cloaks and robes aren’t just for effect. Believe me, I _get_ it; I grew up here.   The first time I saw a thermostat on Shadow Earth as an adult, I thought I was dreaming!”

Turning a corner, they passed down a long, broad flight of stairs, interrupted by an ornamental landing about halfway. More old shields and pieces of armor and weaponry were bolt-mounted to the sloped ceiling above them, more tantalizing pieces of history in a place that reached back a few thousand years at least. She must’ve looked curious because the king instantly fell into explanatory curator mode, giving her abbreviated stories and epochs associated with certain artifacts as they went along, filling her impressionable mind with rich culture and wondrous tales of yore that had had a kernel of truth to them at one point in time.   It was so engrossing that in a short while she was paying more attention to what he was pointing out, what he was saying, than where they were actually going; she was more than a little surprised to realize they were suddenly at their destination… and that she couldn’t have retraced her steps very easily after a certain point!

“Here we go,” he announced casually, removing a large ring of keys from his left-hand pocket, rifling through them for a moment. Locating several, he proceeded to unlock a vertical row of deadbolts before opening the heavy door, gesturing her inside with the universal, sweeping ‘after you.’

The medium-sized room was simply a series of safes and vaults, mostlly built into the walls, but there were a handful of metal doors and keyholes in the flooring, also.   Rinaldo led her over to a rather unassuming-looking small safe in the far right wall and opened it: the thing was empty. With great trepidation, Sarah carefully placed her precious bundle inside it and he shut and locked the door, working the key off the ring, handing it to her before they left the room, with him locking up behind.

Up the stairs, across a hall, then up again, up, up, up; Sarah could feel her calves burning, but the king’s ongoing dialogue was almost enough of a distraction to take her mind off it for the time being. At last they were on the third floor – was it the third floor? She’d actually lost track! A door near the landing was opened-

And she found herself facing a small bedroom apartment not unlike the ones she had seen elsewhere, like Merlin’s in Castle Amber! Only this one had a small fireplace. The king stacked fresh wood and kindling in the grate, then used the torch he was still carrying to set it alight, pointing out where the rushlights were stashed, should she need to light a candle or two during the night.

“Still no indoor plumbing here, I’m afraid,” he advised her, “we just don’t have the groundwater for it.   But the maid service is excellent,” he suddenly smiled. “I’ll have someone bring up breakfast and washing up supplies in the morning and swear them to secrecy about it; few things in life travel faster than castle gossip, and I want as few people to know of your presence here as possible.   I’ll retroactively gag-order those you’ve already come into contact with. Did you need anything else before I return to my own chambers for the night?   We’ve both got a busy day ahead of us.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“Okay. Well, get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, your Majesty,” she curtsied as he turned and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

She more than half-expected to hear it lock, but to her profound relief (and frank surprise) she only heard Rinaldo’s footsteps retreating back down the corridor.   Exhaling in relief, she went and collapsed on the soft mattress; the room was still chilly, but the new fire was taking the edge off fast – it would be comfortably warm in here in no time.   The bed felt incredible on her stiff back, and she was sufficiently tired that she felt she really could go straight to sleep. Kicking off her boots and removing her cloak, she crawled under the thickly-stuffed quilt and warm blankets, luxuriating in her soft little cocoon, not wanting to think of anything else for a while. Even the near future seemed a comfortable ways off at present…

But there was something scratching at the back of her mind, something that wasn’t quite right here – what _was_ it? It was more of a gut-feeling than anything else; she had no points of reference that could possibly come to bear on the situation. Was it something out-of-place, then?

Sarah was tired of pondering, so tired… She curled up with one of the down pillows, welcoming the encroaching sweet black oblivion of sleep…

Her eyes suddenly shot open: that was _it_!   The king’s free use of Logrus power!   True, he might’ve been born half-Chaosian, but that didn’t automatically confer the controlled use of the energy of Disorder on anyone! But _how_?!

Merlin. It had to have been Merlin’s doing – the current king of Chaos pulling strings to allow his fellow-halfie cousin the full use of his dual heritage, carte blanche!

Which could only mean that he was covertly collecting assistance from Kashfa – and vice-versa – somehow. But for what? To what end?

And would the king of Kashfa realize that she had the means to put this together, to suspect them?   None of these people did things for free, out of the goodness of their hearts! _Everything_ was business. Rinaldo Barimen wasn’t just in his home-world here: he was in his native element!

Sarah groaned, rolling over onto her face. Why could _nothing_ ever be easy and straightforward, even when she nominally made the right decisions? Was that an indicator of a right decision, she wondered driftingly – that the wrong decisions of others became more apparent in the choosing?   The conundrum gently swirled around about her mind as she drifted off, her last conscious thought curiously koan-like: that perhaps the question itself was an _answer_ of sorts…

* * *

 

Somewhere, a Chaosian ‘raven’, chanting deep in meditation, was startled alert in mid-syllable:   what she had been desperately trying to do had just worked…

 


	6. The Two J's

Chapter 5 – The Two ‘J’s

Morning broke like a cracked egg, the golden yolk of the sun leaking its way through the edges of the painted wooden shutters covering the small glassless window of the tower bedroom Sarah’s somnolent form was currently occupying. She remained blissfully unaware of the fact for many hours, and when she gradually came around it was to the smell of breakfast:   a metal-covered tray had obviously been brought in while she was asleep, the servant ordered not to disturb her.   Were it not for the food, Sarah would’ve been sorely tempted to just stay right where she was until she was dragged away it was so cozy and comfy, but her stomach won out in the end and she peeled out of the blankets, shuffling across the woolen rugs to the small wooden table and chair by the smoldering grate. Her appointed repast was generous (and nominally still warm, even though the coffee had gone cold): eggs scrambled with fried potatoes, sausage links, a thick toasted slice of buttered bread and apple-butter on the side that was so richly spiced she smelled it the moment the cover was removed. Quickly tucking in, she thought of little else until her hunger was satisfied, most of the plate cleared. Sipping her cooled coffee – which she sugared generously – she got up and went over to the small window, unlatching it to look out.

The view which had steadily eluded her on the ascent the previous night was finally visible from this eagle’s perch in the castle: Jidrash – mighty fortified city of shadow – was spread out below her, only part of the second tier of activity and late-morning bustle slightly occluded by the top edge of the third ivied barrier wall. The place was busy as a beehive, the sounds of the market echoing up the stone buildings: vendors hawking their wares, people shouting, arguing, laughing, even a few animal noises; a donkey brayed. A stiff gust of ozone suddenly blew in from somewhere; must’ve been behind, where she couldn’t see. There were scattered clouds overhead as far as that distant mountain range she had passed over just yesterday; the greenery in the valley did look moist. Within moments, fat raindrops commenced falling at a slant out of a seemingly sunny sky, and she closed the shutters against them, availing herself of the ‘facilities’, such as they were. Hopefully the storm would blow through by the time they had to leave…

For Amber. Sarah should’ve felt relief at the thought, yet trepidation harried her nerves, her memory. Even with a trained sorceror of sorts at her side to protect her if need be along the journey, it still made her rather uneasy to be knowingly waltzing straight into the face of open danger like this. And possible personal retribution, the mysterious Lady being the least of her current worries. Rinaldo Barimen – ‘Luke’ in another life, apparently – might’ve been good at pushing ideas, making the implausible sound attractively rational, but the law was the law in Amber, especially where the Concord was concerned. She couldn’t exactly imagine Random saying, ‘oh well, these things happen,’ patting her on the head and letting her go; a more realistic best-case scenario might be that nobody got killed or imprisoned. She didn’t even want to think about the possibilities – for either of them – in the worst-case.

And the thought of having to personally face Prince Julian again under _any_ circumstances was downright scary no matter which way she sliced it; no sympathy whatsoever would be forthcoming from that particular quarter.

_Sarilda..._

Yep – the whole situation was definitely a mess. Her only consolation was that they were going to clean it up one way or another, and if she lived she’d get to go home and get _herself_ back together.   It was strange, but she was almost becoming mentally adjusted to her metaphysically separated half-existence.   Could she be killed anymore if no one could reach her soul, she suddenly wondered out-of-the-blue? She would’ve never undertaken this separation willingly, yet she had to concede that there very well might be bizarre applications for such a peculiar state-of-being. Perhaps she could ask the king about it; he seemed rather knowledgeable himself when it came to the occult.

There was no timepiece of any kind in her room, only the outdoor light to guesstimate by; that brought back memories, too. She finished off her mug, getting that little syrupy sugar-shot at the end, feeling a bit jittery and not just from the caffeine.

There were no books in the room, nothing provided to pass the time, either – aside of the tome she was still toting about in her carryall; Sarah retrieved the geography book and reopened the shutters (the rain had passed quickly, must’ve just been the cloud they were under) before settling back down on the soft bed with it, flipping to the table of contents. Really, she should return this book also when she got to Amber – she had no right to claim such a rich resource as solely her own – but she’d be damned if she didn’t get as much goody out of it as humanly possible before that moment arrived! Out of sheer curiosity about what it would say, she turned to the pages on Shadow Earth…

She was in the middle of reading up on Sarilda’s desert outpost of Heerat when she was interrupted by a rather timid knock on the door.

“Come in!” she called, bookmarking the page with the ribbon attached to the binding as a laden serving girl entered, looking to be a little younger than herself, carrying a heated pitcher of water and a cake of soap in her hands, with a thick, large towel draped over her right arm, fresh travel garments draped over her left. Sarah insisted that she was perfectly capable of washing up by herself as the girl poured half the water into a porcelain basin on a metal stand by the far wall, but she did take the servant up on the offer of having her current clothing washed downstairs, quickly stripping with the girl’s eyes averted, handing her the bundle with her honest thanks on her way back out of the room.

The ‘sponge bath’ – such as it was – was lightning fast due to the chill in the room alone; she got dressed in the new long, warm, forest green-dyed merino wool dress before even attempting to wash her hair, she had been shivering so badly! At least it felt good to be _clean_ again, and not to smell of horse for what would likely be all of another hour or so; the bedding she’d slept in was definitely noticeable to her nose now. Her own clothing was returned to her in due course, along with lunch: a cut of marinated mutton, more root vegetables and bread, and a glass of red wine.   She asked for drinking water also, if it could be had without too much trouble (remembering the king’s warning about the limited water supply the previous night, not even sure how easily it was made potable,) but the request was met with demure nonchalance, and quickly fulfilled.

By early afternoon Sarah had grown positively anxious, pacing the small room, all her things carefully packed and her canteen refilled already, when the king finally put in an appearance, rapping on the door twice before entering almost immediately, the knock obviously just a formality.

“Sorry about keeping you in suspense like that,” he remarked upon seeing her harried state, shutting the door behind him. “Not to be coarse about it, but sometimes it seems like I can’t do _anything_ in this job without committee approval specifying when, where, and how,” he gave a rueful little smile. He was dressed in a splendid grass-green velvet jacket with lots of golden accents, a gold phoenix clasping his matching high-collared cape at the throat, with dun breeches and high cavalier leather boots beneath. “Heavy is the head, and all that jazz. You seem ready to go – did you get a decent night’s sleep?”

“Yes, thank you; this was really comfortable. And breakfast and lunch were nice, too.”

“So is _breathing_ ,” he answered with an odd note of sarcasm. “I’m not about to let you starve now that you’re under my protection, but you’re welcome anyway. Well,” he seated himself in the small chair; Sarah perched on the edge of the made bed, “it’s sort of a good news/bad news situation like we suspected, at least in _getting_ to Amber. My wife, Queen Nayda of Begma, is… a rather talented psychic, shall we say,” he slyly yet proudly confided. “She sees danger ahead of us if we follow the more normal shadow routes into the True City, or even the back way behind Kolvir from the north: _somebody’s_ watching them – there’s a magickal surveillance system in place that’s clearly of Chaosian origin, the spells installed fairly recently, so I know its not even anything of my cousin Merlin’s doing for Random; he _has_ done some ‘homeland security’ work for him in the past as part of an addendum to their Concord. However, the good news here would seem to be that we can confirm that your adversary is _not_ omnipotent, omniscient, nor omnipresent,” he smirked. “You don’t have to worry about pissing off a goddess, even a minor one. And we _should_ be able to make the run so long as we use more circuitous shadow paths interspersed with a number of switchbacks, alerting Random when we’re getting close so he can send an appropriately outfitted and warned party to escort us the rest of the way via the King’s Hellride Highway – an unmarked passage straight into Castle Amber’s back courtyard. Anyway, my wife postulates this to be the safest of our alternatives under the current circumstances, and I quite agree with her.   This does mean that the journey’s going to take a few days longer, though, but I mean to do this right, and if that entails taking a little extra time, then so be it. I know this isn’t as fast as you were hoping, but I think this really is the best we can do.”

Sarah shrugged.   “Whatever needs to happen here; I’m not about to argue if it’s a matter of physical safety!” she nervously laughed.   “Does that mean we’re leaving soon?”

“Just as soon as we retrieve the Stone. Here,” he unwrapped a long, hooded black-velvet cloak she hadn’t seen he was carrying when he came in, passing it to her, “this is on loan from her majesty.   Keep the hood down until we’re out in Shadow where no one would recognize us anyway. It carries a rather light spell to dispel curious eyes that might glance your way in the meantime, and another that would only affect one of full-Chaos blood, to protect you should it come to that – she won’t even tell _me_ what that one is! Accidental sympathetic magick can be tricksy that way.”

“…wait a minute, the Lady said no powers can be used on the person carrying the Dreamstone without adversely affecting the artifact!”

“Then it’s a very good thing that you’re _not_ carrying it,” he answered amusedly. “Granted, we still don’t know just how much of what she told you was bullshit, but I’m not about to risk something like that myself without more concrete information. I plan to carry the Stone myself – I can physically, so long as it remains wrapped the way it is right now. It would be best for it not to be on your person, anyway; too long of an exposure to the Jewel of Judgment even just casually can prove fatal; it starts eating into your life-force. I’ve no way of knowing how the Dreamstone compares on that point, but if it’s going to parasitically draw on someone, I have a much stronger stamina; training for power-work is only good for so much. And it won’t even be out of reach during the ride: you’re traveling coach and I’ll be in there with you – at least in body – for most of the duration. Shall we?”

They stood, and Sarah shouldered her bag, then donned the occult-ceremony-grade cloak over everything, pulling the hood down as far as it would go, all the way to her chin.   Taking his majesty’s arm, she allowed him to lead her out of the room and carefully back down the ponderously long staircase (which seemed markedly longer in the man’s silence.) There were a few notes of subservient greeting directed toward him in the halls, but either his staff and retinue were remarkably unquestioning of their monarch, or the queen’s cape was working to the extent that Sarah was like a ghost to them – she simply didn’t exist! Down and around they went, down to the treasury once more. Sarah retrieved the Stone and carefully knotted the sack tightly closed before handing the parcel over to the king for him to secrete on his person – in his jacket somewhere, perhaps in a garment underneath (he had to unclasp a bit of clothing to reach it.)   She was all but blind as he led her up, out, away to the royal stables in the back of the compound, helping her into the carriage before entering himself, sitting across from her as the side door was closed from the outside.

“Stay down and back,” he quietly warned her, “it’ll look too strange if I draw the blinds on the way out of the City; people like to wave.”

What she took to be the royal cavalcade escort audibly trotted out both ahead and behind them as the coach began to roll backward… for her. At least this ride was going to be nominally civilized and comfortable; the seats were decently cushioned, and there was plenty of room to spread out.   The ensuing cheers and shouts from the streets as they traversed the city were patriotic, friendly, jovial even – something of a surprise to Sarah – as they twisted down the long winding cobblestone road to the main gates! She really was doing her best to be one with the golden-damasked upholstery; so far it seemed to be working. Off across the grassed plain they sped, after a time peeling off to the right, toward the towering aspen-covered mountains beyond Jidrash, quite literally the edge of her map! The first shift had to be coming up soon. They began to steadily climb, entering the divide.

“You go ahead and lower your hood, Sarah; you’ve got to be suffocating in there, and Jidrash is about to be a world away. But don’t talk to me for a while.”

Sarah gratefully shoved the thing back from her face… and saw – as she’d guessed from the movement – that she was seated in front, facing the rear bench. Rinaldo was resolutely staring out the left window, practically leaning out toward the mountain, his green eyes fixed ahead with a terrible level of will and concentration, doubtless altering the landscape ahead of them. It was certainly not the first time she had viewed blatant shadow-shifting like this, but it _was_ the first time the act had appeared to be outwardly as difficult as it truly was!

 _Of course; he’s only half-Patterner_ , she suddenly thought. Traveling the ‘old-fashioned’ way like this was probably a strain for Merlin, too. Perhaps that had been part of his reasoning for…

She averted her gaze from the king’s peridot-hard irises, and more leisurely took in the view herself from the other window. If there was one thing to be said for this corner of Shadow, it was certainly scenic:   they were currently traversing a rather verdant mountain range with unnaturally even roads, hemmed in all about suddenly by a variety of lush deciduous trees for the moment – which were literally accumulating moss as they went, the greenness spreading until it was joined by brilliant tiered fungi, some of which was glowing in the shadows with inner phosphorescence, the pungent smell overpowering. The moss gradually gave way to more complicated lichens (thankfully none with obvious eyeballs, studying them in turn) as the foliage began to thin somewhat, filling with more ground cover, closer, denser. Once creeping ivy had taken over, there were bushes for a while longer… and then a clean breakaway into moorlands; in the space of half-an-hour, there were no mountains at all!

“There,” the king sighed in satisfaction, sitting back down in his side of the bench.   “We’re on the right track for a while now; I won’t have to do that again for at least another hour. We’ve got plenty of time. Was there anything you wanted to talk about? Even if it wasn’t for the spectre of potential tedium from such a long roadtrip, I imagine I still owe you for this since you turned down my previous offer of ongoing protection. Anything odd on your mind that’s been bothering you lately? I’ve been known to be a good listener when the occasion calls for it.”

“Now that you mention it,” Sarah began, commencing to confide in him about her peculiar personal predicament with her fetch running her life for her back on Shadow Earth.   True to his word, the king listened to her with a dire seriousness overlaid with genuine enough concern for her well-being, yet he begged off on giving the matter answer right away, demurring to the effect that he knew someone far better to ask, and he would broach the topic as hypothetical speculation on her behalf, hopefully turning up something useful.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you in the meantime,” he did his best to reassure her.   “If this was really going to hurt you I suspect it would’ve happened right up front when the separation occurred.   Still, we’ll make sure and get you a backup rite for the rejoining just in case the Lady was lying about that being automatic, too – nothing too complex should be necessary for something that’s naturally a part of you anyway.”

Sarah quickly discovered that it was far too easy to talk to him in general: there was no feeling of weirdness, no pressure about anything – he seemed a very genial, relatively young, open-minded Earth-man! And, in consequence, she realized in a hurry that she had to be careful of just how much she was saying! Among other things, she unintentionally let slip that she had conversed with a Pattern-ghost of himself on one occasion; she hadn’t meant to, but it had just come right out, along with the sentiment of familiarity with him from a previous meeting the man was naturally completely unaware of! Of course this led to an odd cat-and-mouse sort of half-interrogation that Rinaldo managed to turn into a ridiculous guessing game to try to catch her off her guard so she would correct him without conscious premeditation… and it actually worked enough times that he was able to mostly piece the event together!   As irritated as Sarah was initially about being so easy to play like this, Rinaldo’s real interest was hard to be mad about – especially the part with the Pattern-phantom of his dad.   And the duel.

“Did Corwin…” he winced, having a hard time even finishing the sentence.

“No, he didn’t,” she answered in all honesty.

“Did Brand just dissolve then?”

Sarah nodded, looking down at her lap; it was technically true. He didn’t need to know _this_. She almost wished _she_ didn’t.

The king exhaled, closing his eyes, leaning back his head. “He’d served his purpose, then, and the Pattern stopped supporting him.”

Silence was the only conscionable answer; his own non-communication concurred. For just a moment Sarah could detect that he had clenched his jaw…

“Man, how did we get talking about something so existentially _morbid_?!” Rinaldo suddenly forced himself to laugh, opening his eyes again. “There’s enough uncertainty in life without the Powers giving animation to the multiplicity of choices we _don’t_ make! For what it’s worth, I’ve met that version of me, too; he’s a pretty nice guy,” he added with a glint in his eye that reminded Sarah far more of his _father_ , the shuffle of genetics even in such a rare breed performing their eerily uncanny dance…

Conversely, the king of Kashfa proved far more adept at finding ways to neutrally evade most of Sarah’s own questions in turn, carefully yet gently steering their conversation the majority of the time; after a while of this, she had to reflect that his training as a businessman on Shadow Earth had likely rendered him an intimidating statesman politically. In fact, the only reason she had the leisure to reflect upon this at all was because after a short rest-stop Rinaldo had to resume the shifting process once again, leaving him mentally absent from the cabin temporarily.   It would have been impossible to tell if they were making good time, for the road he was taking them on was of his own design, not registered on any of her maps – in fact, even their current topography wasn’t! The mountains that had returned to lushly surround them for most of the afternoon were gradually drying out, becoming semi-arid, as more hardy evergreens took the place of the deciduous trees save for a lone elm or two, the ground carpeted thickly now in sharply fragrant needles. And even these firs were thinning, the ground ever-so-slowly adopting the ruddy tinge of iron minerals, and something else…

In spite of the decent night’s rest she’d finally had, and the arresting, magically changing foreign scenery, the extended silence of her traveling companion coupled with the monotonous back-to-front rocking of the carriage (and likely sitting for so long) eventually made her drowsy, and she nodded off for a time…

When she was suddenly jolted awake from the vehicle abruptly running over something, she had no idea how long she’d been out. The sun was setting, though.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap,” the king immediately apologized, “but the road won’t be as even from here on out; I wasn’t traveling coach the last time I came this way and I forgot. It’s no problem for the horses, though – or even a man on foot, for that matter.”

“Do we need to leave the vehicle behind and just ride, then?” Sarah asked, feeling a twinge of uncertainty at the prospect of being on horseback once again.

“Not at all,” Rinaldo dismissively waved the idea off, “I just have to work a little harder on the trail ahead is all, up to the Pass.”

Sarah was somewhat reassured: at least this stark landscape was familiar to _someone_ in the party! Upon gazing out a window, she could now see that even the firs were gone, replaced with occasional scrub oak and… were those small prickly pear cacti?!   The bones of their mountain range were in plain view now along the slope-edge, occasionally showing their geologic histories like a card player tipping their hand, from exposed striations of sedimentary and metamorphic rock in the uplifted range, hinting at what was still buried thousands of feet below in the dark.

The road did admittedly become less bumpy as they rolled onward, but the shadow-world about them was changing very little at this point – perhaps a sign that they were drawing close to his chosen destination for the night, Sarah thought hopefully, stretching her legs again in the spacious cabin.

The sun was just beginning to set when they came upon ‘The Pass’… but it was not the type of pass that Sarah had been expecting: it was as tunnel that stretched through the bowels of the mountain! It curved off quickly, so it was impossible to even begin to guess its length. She fairly gaped at the sight as flints were struck and lit torches were passed hand-to-hand by their retinue outside.

“I sincerely hope you are not claustrophobic,” the king addressed her abruptly, accepting a small rushlight that was passed to him through one of the open windows, setting little flickering flames in the two tiny lamps that were bolted to the inside walls. “We can keep the blinds drawn, but there’ll be no hiding the mustiness. I could weave a mild spell over you to keep you calm, but I’d rather not unless you feel you just wouldn’t be able to handle it otherwise; those always leave people a bit suggestible, and I don’t know much about your psychological constitution.”

Sarah swallowed.   “How far is it?”

“Oh, about two miles to reach the open cavern, and then maybe a bit over five longer. The whole thing’s ventilated for safety; nobody’s going to suffocate in here. Granted, that’s a pretty good distance for a casual-use tunnel, especially if you’re not used to the idea.”

Sarah thought about it for a minute, then gave a firm nod. “Can’t be worse than a New York subway,” she forced herself to laugh.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” she replied, a little more relaxed.

“Good, because I really should be leading the troops in,” he opened the door to the carriage, letting himself out with a flourish of his green cape, closing the door again.   “I’ll see you on the other side.”

 _And he didn’t mention that on purpose_, Sarah thought as she heard his boots pacing away, likely up to one of the horses; the coach rocked ever-so-slightly momentarily as another passenger climbed up on the driver’s seat. The girl switched seats herself, now that she was alone in here – finding Rinaldo’s still warm from his body heat – before the vehicle lurched forward again.

The light of the dying day was quickly left behind them as they plunged into the eternal night within the mountain; their path looked to be partly hewn by men, or at least by a man’s will: a cleanly blasted tunnel easily wide enough for at least five lanes of automobile traffic, even if the clearance was low. The stone road was relatively even and smooth by the motion of the carriage, yet their current speed seemed greatly curtailed by the twisting and turning of the passage ahead, hooves and wheels echoing loudly off the rock flooring.

Ventilation shafts or not, it was cold and dank down here; earlier in the trip, there had been moments that she had nearly rued how warmly she’d been dressed, but now she was rather grateful. Rough, gray rock walls tinged with streaks of golden-orange, flowing with cast shadows from the dim torchlight of the party, were the only view to be had for what felt like ages, the sounds of the cavalcade repeating endlessly up and down the hard corridor in both directions. Leaning out the right-hand window to try to see better, all that greeted her eyes was a blackness as deep and profound as the Abyss stretching out before them, with a similarly ominous curtain of darkness that kept closing up behind them as they went; one of the soldiers bringing up the rear seemed to mark her presence for a moment, then abruptly shook himself of it as if he had just being seeing things under the mentally oppressive conditions.

 _The queen’s cloak yet_ , she thought wonderingly, sitting back down.

Yet, the lack of stimuli here in the deeps of Shadow – what alien world currently lay above them she could only guess at – that very limitedness made any variance at all stand out starkly: the echo-time of their horses’ footfalls gradually beginning to lengthen… which had to mean that the tunnel was growing _larger_.

Her instincts were right on the money as the path suddenly commenced an easy rise, the light reflected from the walls growing successively dimmer as those very walls arched up and away from them into a monstrously huge natural ceiling, yet the place was not a cave with stalactites, all surfaces surprisingly smooth from what could be seen!  

And the king was right:   there was certainly fresh air in here, despite all appearances to the contrary – cold gusts of it, in fact!   Sarah gaped: the torchlight was being reflected from little glassy mineral deposits as they meandered on into what felt like a great hall that had been made for giants; they were completely in the open now, the torchlight nigh ineffectual beyond seeing what was directly underfoot.

 _This has to be was Tolkien was thinking of_, Sarah thought, barely able to discern the receding walls in the very far distance. _All it needs is some old statuary and a crumbling throne room and the place could be Moria!_

The party was working their way around piles of stone and mounds of unidentifiable non-organic debris which had fallen to the floor at some point in time, yet less than a quarter-of-a-mile later the way forward smoothed – like tile! She could hear the men remarking upon it in their distinctive dialect of Thari! Only a little later there were a few audible gasps and a few spontaneous self-blessings as the company ground to a halt; that did _not_ sound good! A lone rider audibly galloped back, approaching the carriage: it was Rinaldo! He bent in the saddle to glare at Sarah through the window, smirking.

“Backseat driver,” he teasingly accused her in English. “Who’s leading this expedition, you or me?!”

“I – I’m sorry, I don’t understand-”

“Get out here and see for yourself,” he ordered, backing up a pace so that she could open the door.  

Stiffly disembarking, and more than a little scared, Sarah uneasily set foot inside the cavern and looked in the direction in which the king now pointed… and nearly sank to her knees as her jaw dropped: it was too beautiful! Statues of heroic dwarves the size of small skyscrapers lined the upcoming hallway like structural columns, gilding still faintly shining in certain places upon them! Large, deeply-carved runic inscriptions covered the bases of the sculptures, and the floor-surface ahead was indeed polished to a shine, inlaid with semi-precious diamond-shaped slabs of rock tiling up to ten-by-ten feet!   Flowing Sindarin script curled about the ceiling in an almost botanical-looking style, glowing radiantly down on them with its own blessed light!

“I take it you’re a Lord of the Rings fan,” the king remarked wryly, “and while I’ll admit the light show is pretty, this isn’t getting us any closer to our first camp for the night, and I’d appreciate your not conjuring up any orcs for us to do battle with. Were you just dying to see this so bad that you had to make it real or what?!”

“I… wasn’t trying,” Sarah faltered, severely embarrassed, “I was only daydreaming!”

“You must have an unbelievably strong imagination, then,” the king replied sternly. “You nearly steered us off-course. Why don’t you sit in the other seat so that your sense of forward motion isn’t so strong, and try to rest again or busy yourself with that geography book… if you can do it without thinking about where we are. If this happens again, I’ll _have_ to sedate you!”

“It won’t! I promise!” she vigorously shook her head no, eyes wide.

“Alright then, get back in,” the king sighed, nodding.

As soon as Sarah was securely back inside the coach, the company started moving again – to the left, in a ninety-degree turn. She stared longingly at the shadow-remnants of the hall of the Khazad, ‘the People’ in Dwarvish.

  _Oh, for a camera..._

She couldn’t be entirely certain, but for a moment she thought she saw a tiny pair of faintly luminous, rounded, baleful _eyes_ peeking out from behind one of the dwarf-pillars on the right-hand side, almost familiar… but she would not name him: wrong treasure to covet, wrong ‘Precious’ – no.

The eyes blinked.

Sarah forced her gaze, her attention, back into the cabin with a start, finally pulling the blinds down and securing them: that whole incident had been far too close for comfort! Taking the king’s advice, she dug the geography tome back out, resting the old textbook in her lap. And suddenly wondered…

Rinaldo clearly had no intention of telling her ahead of time where they were going, possibly for security purposes, conceivably, on a number of levels. For all her training and background in the arcane arts from Chaos, she had never put much faith in bibliomancy; the manner of oracle wasn’t arbitrary enough to her way of thinking, always limited in scope to the single book one used. But to select a shadow from a list of shadow-places…

Sarah closed her eyes, intuited her desire, and opened the book at random to see where it would fall.

The answer genuinely surprised her: Denjak, a world doomed to icy sterility by a dying star too weak to supernova, yet too far away to engulf it in the fiery end of expansion. And the general weather now was akin to Shadow Earth’s Antarctic at its most balmy! Main attractions included snow, snow, and even more snow – water-based, through – with glaciers the size of sharp, steep mountains, forever trapping the previously tropical world and all the creatures that inhabited it below in a frozen coffin for all time, the layers of ice too thick for even scavenger-hunters. Who would ever _go_ to such a place?!   Why was it even listed in here?   It was stupid! She merely skimmed the rest of the two-page spread (which was mostly comprised of thumbnail sketches; there was more scenery than anything else) before slamming it back shut again with a satisfying thump.   Like she thought: worthless divination. She itched for the old Tarot deck that had gone with her small handful of trumps; at least _that_ could’ve been a little more detailed and accurate!

 _Oh get a grip, it’s not the book’s fault_ , she thought irritatedly at herself, opening it again to the contents page, just flipping through for anything that caught her eye.   The carriage was turning left again – no, _right_ , she was backwards in here – but she did her best to ignore it, immersing herself in an account of Avalon that could’ve only come from Prince Corwin; she’d nearly forgotten that he’d told her (after a fashion) about his rule there, as one of the few places he had been truly happy in life...

Much later, a part of her brain registered that the tunnel was closing in again: the echoing sounds were changing the walls coming closer and closer in an easy descent… She finally raised the blinds and looked out the window when the smell of sulfur came: there was smooth, yellow-glazed rock that came almost to the edges of the carriage! There was barely enough room for the vehicle! The rest of the company was all going single-file now; it couldn’t get any narrower or they would become trapped! Regardless of the close quarters and the irritating compounds, fresh air was blowing in occasionally from somewhere up ahead: the exit! They were nearly there! Wherever ‘there’ was…

No increasing brightness met them – even here the sun had already set – but the evening wind was decidedly cold as they carefully emerged, one by one. Sarah looked up from her book… and her eyes grew wider and wider as the carriage crawled forward, making a sharp left-hand turn along the thin-cut mountain road: immense glaciers, lit up harshly by a setting waning moon! Flecks of snow blew by with the gusts!

_Rinaldo can't seriously expect us to-_

Her reaction of disbelief was interrupted by a completely different vista: a _real_ mountain range, tall, imposing, snow on some of the highest peaks! And then came the unexpected briny tang of an ocean…

It was too weird to not try for a better view! Sarah cautiously scooted over to the right window and peered out all the way down…   She hadn’t seen any world this bizarre since her travails in the shadows near Chaos! From the base of the smoothed, denuded grey rocky pile across which they were riding, down to the strand of a stormy, choppy sea with breakers that would be a surfer’s dream-come-true, was an open lava field which stretched away for at least a mile, the liquid rock glowing and bubbling redly in the dusk in a long line, as if the continental plate in this place had shifted forward, exposing a hot-spot fissure! The internal structure that they had just passed through suddenly clicked together in her mind: this ‘range’ was in fact a long line of unusually tall, extinct shield volcanoes – they had just come out of one of the lava tubes!

But beyond all these natural-seeming wonders was the imposingly immense gothic-pastiche fortress that lay just beyond the area of active vulcanism, before the mountains, skirting frozen desert and watery wasteland…

This distinctive shadow-world had to be in the book! If only she could find it quickly! Rapidly picking her way back to Denjak, she saw that the end of the entry contained a small-print addendum-type footnote:

‘Keep of the Four Worlds encroaches upon the far northern border: exercise prudence.’

A quick check under the K-names turned up nothing, however, which felt eerily ominous: a landmark big enough to be noted, yet otherwise completely unknown to the scribes who had penned this volume! Which, realistically, could only mean two or three things, none of which included a warm welcome, let alone a warm dinner and a safe bed! But King Rinaldo seemed awfully sure of himself in coming here; Sarah could nearly believe that he knew the secret to this place when no one else in his family did. Such would certainly suit the man’s Barimen heritage down to the ground.

It took only minutes to reach the black, sandy coastline; once turned onto it, she heard a Thari cry of ‘Onward!’, and at once the whole party took it up, taking off at full-charge, galloping the last mile to their now-obvious destination! Salt spray and snow and sulfur – the scents all mingled strangely together in the high wind of the plain the Keep dominated! On the approach, Sarah realized that a little of the light she had spied from above was not smoldering rock, but smoldering earth – peat, if she wasn’t mistaken – the outline of a small peasant village becoming clearer as they drew closer! Rinaldo skirted the entire inhabited area, likely to keep from alarming the locals. What anyone could be living on out here Sarah couldn’t even begin to imagine, unless they were fisher-people, and even at that there were no vessels of any kind in sight. The Kashfan company was pulling straight alongside the turreted 200-foot-tall dark grey walls, with crenellated towers at the corners that soared even higher, riding boldly up to the barred portcullis as if none inside this massively imposing fortress would dare stand against them! The grating sounds of heavy chains being lifted greeted her ears as they sat there… and her breath caught as they proceeded freely through in stately fashion into the courtyard! There were sounds of dismounting from without and the door to the carriage opened…

Taking a deep breath, Sarah collected her things and drew the midnight hood up over her head, yet not over her face, before climbing down; it was an unknown, darkly liveried servant who silently greeted her with a swift bow as if she were a great lady, giving her first a hand down, then a hand with her bag. Looking about, she took in a veritable maze of interconnected buildings that skirted the barrier walls and their high walkways to the left and right, with asymmetrical flights of stairs and obvious tunneled hallways all over the place. She was suddenly struck with the bizarre feeling of being inside a hamster cage with a tube-village toy!

But the Keep was certainly no child’s play: ever since their approach, the feeling of latent power had been prickling along Sarah’s spine with an accompanying sense of incredible awe. Whatever was going on down here was worth protecting with both life and limb – at least somebody thought so from the number of soldiers sent ostensibly to ‘greet’ them (more likely to keep an eye on them), with even more watching intently from above on the parapets!

And this wasn’t even the inner sanctum! Within the feet-thick walls, behind a dry moat and a spiked iron fence, was a somber citadel on the far end of the plaza in which she currently stood, nearly as big as Castle Amber, yet constructed in a patchwork of styles as if it had undergone serious renovation at least twice… were those Chaosian needle-towers?!

“Rinaldo!”

Sarah started at the female voice, automatically looking up to the source: there, on one of the staircases to the right that led into the courtyard, limned in torchlight, was a beautiful woman of indeterminate age – tall, with deep-red hair and dark eyes – wearing a long, open fur coat, her bejeweled dress underneath fit for a queen! She was smiling as she smoothly ran down the flight to greet the king of Kashfa, who had dismounted and quickly approached to meet her halfway at the base… and embraced her warmly, kissing her on the cheek before motioning Sarah to join them!

“Come _here_ – she isn’t going to bite,” he laughed, gesturing the girl closer with one hand.  

Unsure of what society dictated under the circumstances beyond the obvious, much less what manner of sorceress this way (for it was undoubtedly the lady in charge here from the way she carried herself), Sarah meekly approached and curtsied demurely.  

 _Are you a good witch or a bad witch?_ crazily flashed through her mind.

“Mother,” Rinaldo began a bit more quietly, “I should like to present to you Sarah Williams of Shadow Earth, a specially-gifted young lady with a natural penchant for attracting trouble – definitely your wheelhouse; bet you anything you’ll like her.   Sarah, this is my mother, the lady Jasra Barimen, former queen of Kashfa; she basically stepped aside so I could take the throne.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Sarah managed to articulate somehow with her mind suddenly flying every which way! Jasra Barimen?! The girl hadn’t even realized the woman was yet living from how far back she was mentioned in Kashfan history!   And here she was, looking not a day over forty! Although magic could do that, too… Reminding herself of the lady’s Chaosian descent, Sarah forced a passable smile.   No one so much as knew Jasra’s original last name, and she seemed keen on retaining Barimen, refusing to remarry after her husband’s untimely passing in the War (that was the polite way of couching the bloody, traitorous event), despite a string of lovers with high military connections!

There was something about a woman who genuinely worried an advanced AI like the Ghostwheel…

The lady was also uncannily perceptive, for she chose that moment to sigh theatrically.

“I can see only too clearly that my previous reputation continues to precede me after all this time,” she uttered decisively, taking Rinaldo by surprise! “Kashfan historians obviously still hate strong-willed women.   But nevermind that,” she forced a little lip-smile of her own. “I bid you welcome to my current stronghold, Sarah. Shall we retire to an indoor location?” she glanced upward a moment, as if scrutinizing the weather. “We may be in for a little unseasonable snowfall if the winds continue to press westward like this.” She started back up the stairs, and Rinaldo nodded for Sarah to follow; he and the servants with their luggage brought up the rear. “I hope your journey here was not too difficult for you,” the woman continued in a more social tone with a glance back.

“Not really – mostly just long,” Sarah answered her mildly.

“Yeah,” Rinaldo chimed in, “be sure to omit the part where you almost drove us smack-dab into Middle Earth by mistake.”

An explosive laugh issued from the former queen, catching Sarah a bit off-guard! “I thought I sensed something of the Power about you, girl!   You would also be an initiate of the Broken Way, then?”

“No, it’s… complicated,” Sarah faltered. They had reached the landing and a regular-sized reinforced wooden door; the lady entered, and they followed after, into a stone tunnel that was lit every so many feet by blue-glowing wizard globes along the low ceiling, rather in the manner of electric lights!

“She’s actually right,” Rinaldo backed Sarah up as the tunnel abruptly emptied into a larger hallway and they turned left, past an armored, armed guard who saluted in passing.   “That particular conversation warrants better privacy than just out here for any and all of your retainers and servants to overhear.” He caught Sarah by the arm, pulling her a step back to pace him. “Better watch what you say around her, too; being away from court means my mother is practically starved for gossip out here.”

“You know perfectly well that I can still hear you back there, Rinny,” Jasra dryly quipped.

“You know how I hate being called that!” the king of Kashfa rejoindered.

“Then stop behaving like a child,” the lady easily admonished.

Sarah did not have to see the woman’s face to hear the smile in her voice: she was enjoying this fleeting chance to tease her now-powerful son!  

Or _was_ it so fleeting, she suddenly wondered?

“Here we are! This seemed far more suitable to the occasion and just us three than that drafty, chilly old dining hall in the Citadel,” Jasra warmly announced, interrupting Sarah’s train-of-thought, unlocking a door to the right and breezing into a cozy sitting room that was not only furnished with rather modern couches, coffee tables and bookshelves, but place-settings for dinner on a rounded table near the thin, glass-covered slit windows, which had originally been archers’ shafts, if Sarah’s guess wasn’t amiss!   “Take our guest’s things to her room; his majesty will have his usual quarters in the Citadel,” she ordered the servants with the luggage promptly as they accepted everyone’s wraps as well, making a quick exit. Now Sarah was _really_ glad Rinaldo was still carrying the Dreamstone on his person!   And yet… all of this seemed very planned for such short notice…

Sarah could’ve smacked herself in the forehead: trumps! Prince Brand had been a talented artist by all accounts, talented enough to create them himself; surely he had made sets for his wife and his son! The king of Kashfa must’ve contacted his mother to arrange for all of this – probably late last night – warning her that they were coming!

Then she had a sudden sinking feeling: had he mentioned why? But Sarah almost laughed at her justifiably paranoid reaction as she was escorted across the room.

Who am I kidding?   She probably already knows anything and everything pertinent from what I told Rinaldo; she’s just playing dumb to be polite! Forcing herself to relax (it was well beyond the time to be panicking), she took her proffered seat and unfolded her linen napkin in her lap. Oh well, two can play at this game. “Lady Jasra, what did you say was the name of this fortress? If you mentioned it, I failed to hear it.”

The tall woman elegantly seated herself across from Sarah, studying her eyes for the barest fraction of a second before replying with a small smirk. “The name means little without at least a glancing explanation.   Your Thari is excellent, by-the-way; I commend your _tutor_ ,” she unexpectedly gave her a broad, knowing smile, “but you are American by birth, correct?”

“Yes,” Sarah replied, beginning to have fresh trepidations about just how much this woman might know!

“Then you are familiar with the idea of the ‘four corners’ region in the western part of your country, where four states all cleanly join together in one locality.” She took a sip of freshly-poured white wine as a simple yet nice supper was brought in and served from behind them: some manner of herbed fish-steak with sea-vegetables, and rolls that faintly smelled of honey, served with butter. The retinue from the kitchen left the room with their lady’s quick dismissal, closing the door. Jasra’s sharp, mahogany-tone eyes flicked back to Sarah. “Same idea here, basically, but on a far grander scale,” she vaguely gestured at their surroundings with her fork; Rinaldo took the loose cue and started eating, with Sarah quickly joining him. “While it is a rare anomaly, at least on the Orderside of things, this place is founded upon the conjunction of four separate shadow-worlds – I take it I don’t have to explain _that_.”

Sarah shook her head, chewing.

“The Keep of the Four Worlds… perhaps not the most artistic of names, but it does get the point across.   Hence the erratic weather patterns,” she editorialized, commencing her own meal.

“Do you hold commerce with all the adjoining Shadows, then?” Sarah asked between bites; she’d never eaten fish quite like this before – it wasn’t bad, but a bit strongly-flavored.   The spinach-like seaweed made for a needed salty counterpoint to help balance it out.

“Not exactly. Oh, we have political relations of sorts with our immediate neighbors to the east, but most of my… business dealings lie further afield out of basic necessity; as you could doubtless see on your way down, this world is hardly a breadbasket,” she reached for the rolls on the table, taking one, buttering it, then setting it aside on her plate so that the spread could melt.

“The ginsu’s good as usual,” Rinaldo complimented. “Your regular sharkmonger, Mother?”

Sarah blinked, surprised: she was eating some kind of alien shark?! Jasra caught the brief expression before it was suppressed and chuckled quietly.

“Why just use the dorsal fin for some allegedly magical cure-all soup when you can eat most of the rest of the animal? And we export the leathers, too; it gives the locals the chance to earn a few extra coins.”

“I’ll admit I’d wondered if your people fished that ocean, but there weren’t any boats in sight on the shore when we drove by.”

“Doing it standing on ‘dry land’ is dangerous enough here,” Rinaldo answered her. “The Sea of Antali is always rough near this coast and the water’s mostly full of man-eaters who’ll chew straight through any vessel to get at the sailors – I wouldn’t go swimming out there even on a warm day, let alone go walking on the beach! They even get washed ashore in those huge waves sometimes. The type of shark we’re currently consuming is just as savage on land as it is in the water; it takes several full-grown men plus the angler to subdue one once it’s hauled in. I’ll spare you the gory details, but you couldn’t pay me enough to do that job! There are admittedly crazy folks who apparently get this huge rush out of the danger of it, though,” he shook his head, eating some more. “If I want that kind of excitement, all I have to do is put a bunch of my paternal relatives in a room and watch them have at it. It’s usually safer for the observer.”

His mother looked as if she were about to say something, then realized that they weren’t alone for a change and kept eating.

 _Yikes!_ “… if it’s such a hard-scrabble existence, why does anybody bother to live out here?” Sarah posited as innocently as she could manage, already roughly guessing the answer yet curious as to what her hostess would say; yonder citadel simply bristled with power – she could’ve set a compass by it!

Jasra eyed her plate, but her expression was curiously far away. “Granted it _is_ a bit off the beaten track, but we always – that is, my _late husband_ and I, always liked this place; it still holds a lot of good memories for me, of when he was still with us,” she briefly glanced at her son, who refused to acknowledge it; _that_ was interesting. “We all have our own little sentimental follies. There, you know mine now; it’s only fair that you let me in on one of yours,” she obviously shifted the subject, finally eating the roll on her plate while eying Sarah expectantly.

“What did I tell you?” Rinaldo remarked, seeming rather at home himself here. “You’d best just humor her before she changes her mind and starts asking more invasive questions about things that actually matter.”

“How dare you,” his mother just as casually replied, more amused than irritated. “If you weren’t a king in your own right, I’d send you away to a Chaosian finishing school yet – you know I _could_.” The tease was a real half-threat by the sound of it!  

 _Alright, at least my family isn’t this screwed up_, Sarah thought, taking a small sip of wine herself, preparing to launch into the old spiel about her own mother’s acting career – oddly the most comprehensive ‘light’ topic she could conjure well on such short notice. It was incredible to think that her entire early life had truly become fodder for frivolous parlor conversation amongst assorted royals!

To her surprise, Jasra actually seemed genuinely interested in Sarah’s convoluted family life, as messy and mundane as it was, asking question after pertinent question about each of her parents in turn, almost like she sort of cared on a basic decency level… or perhaps it was mere curiosity if the lady was truly that bored.   The bottom line was that she was good enough at this that Sarah honestly couldn’t tell either way – not that it really mattered. In the course of the conversation, her own more current academic life came up, and this in turn triggered the former queen of Kashfa’s bragging proud parent instincts and even a few stories of Rinaldo’s scholastic exploits at U.C. Berkeley, all whilst deftly _not_ explaining why he was there at all! Granted arguendo, many of the Barimen clan chose to undergo secondary educations upon Shadow Earth, but the regaling was just a shade too clean to be anywhere near a complete story after a fashion. Then again as far as outward show was concerned, Sarah had been playing rather close to the vest as well; it only followed.

Dinner was finished with small preserved fruit tarts, the silver tray discreetly hidden on a bookshelf by the servants until it was time so that they would not have to be disturbed again; the queen fetched it, bring it over to the table.

“Normally I would order coffee service also – especially for you, dear Rinaldo, with your addiction,” the lady of the Keep made show of her lavish affection, draping an arm around his shoulders as she came back with them, “but I know you’ve had a long day,” she addressed Sarah again, “and that you have another long one ahead of you tomorrow, and that you need your rest.”

It was obvious that Sarah was not going to be seeing the citadel and whatever mysteries lay within it, let alone get any sort of tour even of these outer areas. Still…

“Were those Chaosian minarets always a part of the Citadel?” she boldly inquired, picking up a tart by its thin, crisp crust; they were obviously finger-food. “The style is rather distinctive; it isn’t seen that often ‘out here’.” She had a feeling that the lady had already been briefed on Sarah’s tenure ‘there’, that the frank sentiment would not be shocking.

Neither was she incorrect, although the direct question out-of-the-blue did inadvertently succeed in throwing Jasra off-balance for a second; she almost instantly recovered her composure, however, with a rueful little lip-smile, conceding the knowledge as she sat back down.

“Sieges and battles do tend to be a bit rough on one’s furnishings, so-to-speak, and a good remodel or two can do wonders for making a mere residence feel more like a home. I also have a taste for the modernist industrial style of building to be found on your home shadow, but it is difficult to find workers proficient in such manners of construction ‘out here’, as you put it,” she glanced in passing at one of the thin, converted windows… then turned back to her young guest with a smugly knowing, catlike expression that instantly made Sarah uneasy in turn. “I wasn’t about to bring it up unless you did. Tell me, Sarah, for I am indeed curious on this point: what did _you_ think of ‘out there’?” she pointedly insinuated. “What were your impressions? Tell me.”

Okay, this was definitely a test Sarah hadn’t planned on, but probably should’ve; she did note that the lady was plying the surface of the topic tentatively in vagarities to start, likely seeing if she could pressure Sarah into giving something away that even Rinaldo might’ve swerved around telling her! But it meant she was free to give answer that way, too.

“Strange.   Scary. Incomprehensible. Alien.”   She gave a humorless laugh. “Beautiful. Amazing: everything a surrealist dream of a world should be… I don’t know, maybe I…”   The sentiment suddenly poured out of her unexpectedly, as if it had just been uncorked, “maybe it would have been _different_ – better – if I had actually… _chosen_.”

She could see Rinaldo’s silent surprise as her unbidden unburdening out of her peripheral vision: he clearly hadn’t told his mother that! Jasra for her part was studying Sarah’s features very seriously now, her gossipy demeanor instantly hardening in a way Sarah hadn’t seen since her stint in the Courts.

“You were never even _given_ a choice,” she uttered flatly, “ _either_ time. Were you? None of them even allowed you free will; an involuntary conscriptee the whole way around.”

Dessert was practically forgotten… until Jasra paused to eat the tart on her small plate, and Sarah suddenly remembered her own: it was sweet with figs, similar to a cookie. She helped herself to another, grateful for the momentary distraction from their current conversational turn for the worse!

“Well,” Jasra finally said after another sip of wine, “as far as I can tell, there’s only one cure for that particular problem, and that is to thoroughly understand what you desire to have and to do with your life. Take it from me: where you’ve been doesn’t matter half as much as where you’re going, provided that you can at least be honest with yourself about it and plan well accordingly,” she quietly lectured her – then noticed Rinaldo trying very hard not to laugh.   “Does his majesty have anything _positive_ to contribute to the topic at hand?”

“Only an off-color, snarky joke that wouldn’t be in keeping with your strangely altruistic mood, Mother,” he managed to force out without cracking up.

She glared at him reprovingly. “They’re both breaking the rules when the powers pull stunts like this. I’m merely evening up the playing field a little.”

“In other words,” Sarah interjected, “don’t be used blindly.”

Jasra smiled her approval, nodding. “I am satisfied that you have already intuited your standing in these things, and can so readily be at terms with it.” She rose, the meal obviously over, and they rose with her. “Sarah, I took the liberty of having a room prepared for you just through there,” she turned and pointed to a floor-length tapestry on the wall almost directly behind the king. “The outer areas of the compound have seen even more recent renovation than the citadel, and I believe you will be more comfortable here for the night.   At least the apartments are small enough to warm ambiently by my arts, which isn’t necessarily true of the older sections.”

Sarah nodded appreciatively, thinking of the cold, drafty castle at Jidrash. _Magic apparently can’t solve everything_ , she reflected, _maybe it’s just the wrong-_

“Rest well, Sarah,” Rinaldo interrupted her ruminations warmly, sidling past her, clasping her shoulders for a moment on his way by; she automatically met his friendly green gaze.   “We have to awake and depart early tomorrow, so get a good night’s sleep.”

Sarah had been on the verge of saying something, but it was as if the entire day had just caught up with her; she was suddenly exhausted.

“You know, I think I actually will,” she fought back a yawn, stepping over to the tapestry – but as she went to pull it aside, her hand merely passed straight through the fabric!   A hesitant glance back at Jasra was met with another of the lady’s smug feline smiles.

“There are no Ways here, merely decorative illusions,” her hostess explained. “Although I must confess these _have_ been known to stave off homesickness for that end of the spectrum. I may not be able to see you off, so I will bid you safe journey now.   It was pleasant to make your acquaintance, Sarah. I shall not forget.”

“Nice to have met you, too,” the girl answered, still unsure of how to address the lady with no title to go by; a yawn _did_ slip out this time! “Forgive me,” she laughed, embarrassed, “I don’t know why I can’t stop!”

“I do,” those dark eyes turned decidedly devious, “you traveled over 500 miles in Shadow in a single afternoon! Come, Rinaldo, let us leave our guest to recuperate if you truly plan on pushing ahead this hard the entire way,” she took the king by the arm, forcefully leading him out… but not before he could look over his shoulder at Sarah with a little smile that was communicative by itself: no problems here. We _got_ this.

In seconds Sarah was alone.   She trudged into the well-appointed guest bedroom, pulled off her shoes and crawled into bed without any ado at all, not even noticing the wizard globes automatically dimming to nightlight lumen-level. It was probably just the alcohol; she wasn’t accustomed to even this much drinking, which was actually comparatively modest for the culture. The thought of inter-dimensional jetlag hadn’t crossed her mind in so long…

She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

* * *

 

As moonlight floods

The castle windows

Like sunshine

And the queen meditates

With her mending husband

In the circle of statues

Seeking answers,

Another Vialle enters

Equally as lovely

Yet pale

But with eyes that can see

Unlike her majesty

Mute, though

Mouthing poorly

_Deaf_

Demanding the queen’s seat

By handsigns

To inquire the oracle herself.

 

Her boon granted

That which is named Tongue

Ceases to speak,

Yet bright visions appear

In the midst of the circle,

Colorless:

Of the Dreamstone

Of Tir-na Nog’th,

Her home and country,

Of the blurring

Fragmenting

Falling

Apart

And, at the end

Which could be,

An endless sleep

To round the lives

Of all.

* * *

 

“Sarah Williams of Shadow Earth, awake if you hear me! Arise, for it is direly important!”

Sarah drifted groggily as if in a dream, barely half-alert. “… not… morning… _sleep_ …” Her unfocused eyes flittered in REM motion; they drifted closed and she rolled over, breathing deeply.

The unknown party shook her vigorously by the shoulders, sitting her up in the process. “You _must_ awake!” Abruptly the voice lowered, skewing male and very familiar. “Sarah, snap out of it this instant!”

The girl’s eyes popped open – and she realized that a stranger had her tightly by the arms!   She went to scream, but a soft hand covered her mouth as a Chaosian spirit-light was conjured in midair, near her face so that she could see…

She was face-to-face with a young woman who couldn’t be older than her late twenties! She was definitely full-figured but not fat, with a fairly cute rounded-oval face and long black hair. Both open concern and real fear stood in her dark eyes.

“You are clear-headed now?” she nodded hopefully. “Or do you require a further reviving spell, for me to call upon the Dark Lady to destroy the muddle they made in your mind?” the stranger whispered anxiously.

“What are you going on about?!” Sarah whispered harshly in return, roughly unhanding herself, scooting back against the padded headboard. “Who the hell _are_ you?!”

The figure was oddly amused by her outburst. “Who the hell, indeed… Even my dear husband has refused to learn my true name out of care for me. To all else, I am Queen Nayda Orkuz-Barimen of Kashfa, and unless I am horribly mistaken, my true-love is in grave danger and I am helpless to protect him this time! But you can! Grab your things and come with me! Quickly!” she yanked at Sarah’s wrists.

But Sarah pulled back.   “Uh-uh, I’ve had this one put over on me before: fool me thrice and I’m just a fool! How do I even know you’re who you say you are?”

“Here!” the young lady thrust her wedding band into the light: two phoenixes with emerald eyes embraced upon the thick gold band!   “Please, you _must_ believe me!   We have so little time!”

“But how-”

Her query was cut off by a sudden vision – of herself nodding off in the carriage earlier that day, of the king of Kashfa carefully watching to make sure she was out, then easing in beside her on the bench, holding her by the shoulders, murmuring post-hypnotic suggestions in her ear, actions to be triggered by certain phrases uttered by himself alone! The vision cut out just as abruptly: she was suddenly back in the bedroom! The self-proclaimed queen had fetched her carryall, shoving Sarah’s boots and the black cloak toward her!

“How could you possibly – is your ‘sight’ truly that _powerful_?” Sarah asked, rapidly pulling them on, lacing everything that needed lacing fast. “And why would a native Begman ever follow the Way of the Serpent?!”

“Let us say that you are partially right in your suspicion that I am not entirely as I seem, but leave it at that for the moment,” Nayda demurred, helping her to get up. “I _am_ truly worried that Luke will do something very dangerous to his person this night – forgive me: _Rinaldo_. I knew him as Luke Raynard first, in another place. This way,” she made for a solid-seeming wall, grasping Sarah’s hand firmly; they passed right through it and into an extremely long corridor that looked oddly translucent… as did the guards within it that they were passing by, as if they weren’t even there!   “I believe he actually means you no lasting harm,” she answered Sarah’s unasked question, “but you are too intimately involved, and so he wishes some modicum of control over the situation for his own safety – which I could forgive him, if that was all. But if I know my stepmother – and to know her at all is to know her _well_ – her lust for power is simply insatiable; this plan has her fingerprints all over it! And even after what happened to _her_ husband!”

Queen Nayda turned a sharp right, racing down a long flight of stairs, dragging Sarah along with her; as they went, the feeling of latent power all about them was growing markedly stronger!

“What _is_ it about this place?!” Sarah wondered aloud as they tore through what appeared to be a wine cellar. “I’ve never felt anything like it – that’s raw magic!”

“Indeed,” her raven-haired companion concurred, dodging wooden crates on the floor. “The Keep boasts the biggest leyline-style conjunction in existence! How are your legs holding up? Would it be easier if I simply carried you upon my back? Alas, my form cannot change to accommodate you more easily, as with my more distant brethren.”

Sarah stopped on a dime – and nearly had her shoulder yanked out of the socket as a result! Nayda instantly turned back… and saw that the girl had notably paled, physically shaking, her eyes wide in comprehension.

“You’re possessed,” she whispered, shrinking away from her.

The entity’s ‘own’ eyes were steadying, insistent. “This body’s owner died of an illness many years ago; I have it free and clear. I courted him in another guise, but Luke knows who and what I am and he’s okay with me like this, since I didn’t choose my current… outcome,” she faltered. “I didn’t hurt the true Nayda, and I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I only asked out of practicality; you slept perhaps an hour at best, and you will be needing your full strength for what is to come! Come here,” she turned around, motioning for the girl to give her her arms to wrap about her shoulders.

“If you are what you say,” Sarah responded uneasily, “can you actually undo those other suggestions his majesty…implanted, before this goes any further?”

“You _do_ fear the Dark Lady, even after your close acquaintance,” Nayda suddenly gave a pixie-grin at the thought, “but for this I can try on my own. Close your eyes.”

Sarah did so. To her amazement, when Nayda spoke again the voice she heard was Rinaldo’s! Hands grasped her shoulders gently.

“From this moment, I release you from my commands, Sarah – _awake_!”

To her surprise she actually jolted a bit, as if she had truly been out! Nayda was looking at her hopefully.

“That should’ve done it, if you believe it did. Now come!”  

Just as Sarah suspected, ‘Nayda’ was uncannily strong for her size and build; the moment she was mounted piggyback on her, they were tearing through the basement at a frighteningly unnatural speed, approaching a staircase leading up about an incredibly thick structural column! Not even pausing a beat, the demon-lady raced up the flight, noiseless as a cat, taking the risers two at a time, up the curving grand as the feeling of power implausibly continued to get stronger…

Until they came through into an immense, dimly lit empty room… save for the sizable black marble fountain in the center that was shooting geysers of liquid _fire_ into the air above it, as if the element were water! Sarah forgot to breathe for a few seconds upon seeing it: there was absolutely no question now! Even without training, without any ‘sensitivity’ at all, there was enough power here that even a mere shadow-human could probably learn to wield it shamanically, if it didn’t kill them first! It felt like the arcane equivalent of being in Nikola Tesla’s laboratory, with all that stray current flying about – and it was likely just as dangerous, in the right hands! Nayda paused upon seeing it herself, seeming to take strength from its energy and warmth from a safe distance (likely ‘recharging’) before continuing on up the curving staircase to the right of the Fount, a bit more cautiously.  

“At least she isn’t attempting to tamper with the Stone _this_ way, not right away,” the demon lady whispered over her shoulder, “but I wouldn’t put it past her, later, once the initial imprinting is finished to whatever result,” she physically shivered, tiptoeing up.

“What is it specifically that you fear about this? Besides the obvious, I mean,” Sarah whispered back.

They came to the second-floor landing and Nayda let Sarah down before rapidly hissing in her ear.   “If Luke attunes himself to the Dreamstone, I fear he will become as much a phantom as the ghosts of Tir-na Nog’th!   I could not even follow him where he would drift after such transformation, bound to this accursed body as I am! Let me go first: I will try to reason with him and provide sufficient distraction for you to snatch the Stone from wherever they have it set up for the ritual. I will try to protect you, but once you have the artifact you will have to put it on and discard my cloak quickly. We may be lucky and the Stone will simply transport you away if it senses you are in mortal danger, but I wouldn’t count on it, not if the gimmick is known to them also. I will cover your escape as best I can, but you must travel south into Denjak where the drifts will quickly fill your tracks, and from there seek out Prince Corwin yourself.”

“ _Corwin_?! But that’s what my enemy told me to do in the first place!” Sarah quietly protested as she was forcefully dragged by the wrist down the adjacent hallway, which was also dimly lit with more of those bluish globes.

“The prince, not the place,” the young queen corrected, listening at the closed wooden doors they were passing. “Order-based shadow-walking should accommodate searching for a specific person if it works on all else; even one of his highness’ shadow-doubles might be good enough, if they share sufficient manners of thought-process. Ask _him_ for further aid. _This_ is as much as I can offer.”

Listening at another door, Nayda suddenly straightened. “This one:   she is still weaving spells of protection about him, as if they will preserve his soul!” Turning to Sarah, she pulled the borrowed cloak about the girl, drawing it close, partly lowering the hood, incanting at lightning-speed in that odd dialect of ancestral Thari Sarah had only ever heard Suhuy speak!   Then the queen gripped her hand a moment. “Stay behind me, then keep to the shadows along the walls as much as possible. Be prepared to run the very moment you have it!”

The door was locked and bolted from the inside, but with a single-word command, Nayda blew the thick wooden affair straight off its hinges, tearing into the large workroom and wizard’s laboratory with Sarah in her wake! The king of Kashfa was currently lying prone upon what appeared to be an examination table, flames dancing in the air over his body in occult formations in various places, with his mother standing at his side doing the work; the Dreamstone was hanging from a silver pedestal on a side table to the right, surrounded by the physical trappings of Jasra’s Art – but seemingly within reach! And the little cloth bag was right beside it on the bench!

Upon hearing (and probably ‘feeling’) the disturbance, the former queen of Kashfa instantly looked back, her expression one of frightening ire mixed with real confusion and supreme irritation!

“Nayda, _darling_ ,” she addressed her daughter-in-law icily, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your untimely and violent breaking-and-entering into my private quarters?”

“I am here to protest for the sake of the man I love! You are going to _kill_ him! You knowingly use your only son – your flesh and blood, all you have left of your husband – as a guinea pig!” the lady passionately exclaimed, fearlessly approaching. “What power in any realm could possibly be worth _that_?!”

Rinaldo opened his eyes and turned his head, glaring at her from where he lay. “I told you to stay out of this, that no harm would come to any of us! You disgrace both yourself and our kingdom with your behavior – go home!”

“I won’t let you do this, no matter what you choose to do with me!” she pleaded with him as she reached the table, lovingly stroking his cheek, tears filling her human eyes.   “Please don’t become a spectre when I am no longer free to join you that way!”

“Oh, Nayda,” Rinaldo sighed tiredly, reaching up to cradle his wife’s face in his hand, shaking his head, “do you really think me that much of a fool, to risk myself like that?   True, there is a chance of gaining an ephemeral physical state in the process, but we are confident that it could be consciously controlled with training and practice-”

“And I am _not_ ; you know nothing of which you speak from practical hands-on experience as I do, and your mother fills your ears with dreams of opulent grandeur that comes at too high a price! We don’t _need_ it – Kashfa doesn’t need it! She needs her king! Please come back home with me before it is too late!”

All the while that the demon-lady’s confrontation was taking place, Sarah had been creeping toward that bizarre workstation, barely daring to breathe; upon reaching the Stone, she felt a light tension at the approach of her hand as she passed it through the warding circle – an obvious precaution, but for her purposes it would act like a burglar alarm and she had neither the time nor the experience with her Pattern-based theoretical powers to disarm it. Resigning herself to what was undoubtedly to follow, she loosened the ties of the cloak so that it would fall away in one clean pull: bracing herself, she released her camouflage and swiped the Stone and bag in one quick movement, gritting her teeth against the temporary burning pain from breaking the circle!

The shouting match on the other side of the room stopped on a dime, but Sarah gave the situation no second-thoughts! Thrusting the necklace over her head, she just barely managed to bolt out of the broken-down doorway before heavy steel bars spontaneously appeared to seal the portal! Tearing off down the corridor, Sarah wished they had figured out a cleaner method of escape than this, but she understood that too many variables were involved to make concrete plans like that as she ran down the staircase again; there _was_ a door in the front of this room at ground-level!

And those variables included things that couldn’t possibly help Sarah even if she had known, like the fact that Jasra could teleport within the Citadel! The lady suddenly stood at the foot of the staircase!   Sarah heard dashing boots from behind, stopping at the top: she was trapped already!

“Sarah,” the former queen addressed her with authority, “I can understand how you could be swept up in a rather naïve and emotional ‘rescue’ plot like this, but you can trust that I actually know what I’m doing on this count. This is the highest initiation my Rinaldo will ever have access to; it is practically an extension of his birthright through his father.   Do you truly wish to deny him this, with all he’s doing on your behalf at the moment? Just come to one of us – it doesn’t matter which – and I’ll even allow you to watch if you give me your word you will not interfere again. You can hold it up for him if you want to be a part of this historic rite yourself. Shall we let hysterics alone for the time being and proceed being rational?   If you are so willing, I would be willing to overlook even this breach in conduct against my person.”

Sarah’s mind was racing as fast as her heart – what could she _do_?!

“Sarah,” she heard Rinaldo’s rich baritone voice musically intoning from up behind her, “be _calm_.   Your friend will help you if you _help._ Come _here_.”

They were closing in!   She felt an odd sense of disassociation from her own limbs for a moment, as if they might obey someone else… but the moment passed! Nayda had truly freed her! Sarah was suddenly furious with the king for playing mindgames with her like that!   He was just as bad as…

… and the answer fell into place like a lock mechanism: the stairs!

 _So many_ , she frantically willed, clutching the Stone, _that only I can climb…_

At Rinaldo’s sudden exclamation of surprise she looked about her, and before she could think at all with the rational part of her brain she booked it straight up, across a perpendicular, shining flight of risers, then fled upside-down to a landing on the other side of the open room! It had been the perfect place to manifest her memory of the Escher-like Staircase Chamber from the castle beyond the Goblin City! It suddenly struck her as rather odd for the first time, to be employing even a spectre of Chaos for this purpose, but she didn’t have long to think about it: all possible exits to the room were spontaneously barred with walls of magic fire from the Fount that were not merely decorative!

“ _Sa-rah_ ,” Rinaldo was calling again, although his voice sounded ever-so-slightly less certain.   He was easy to ignore now; her adrenaline rush was seeing to that! She dropped flat to the stairs, barely missing being hit by a flying spell from Jasra before taking off again, running blindly through the maze of her own making!   Still trapped! It was only a matter of time! It was-

Nayda suddenly appeared unharmed out of the blazing hallway above, catching Jasra by surprise with a slowing spell of her own before she could teleport again! Sarah dashed down to the far right side, swinging over the edge to partially double-back toward the front door – only to be confronted by the Goblin King?!

“You’ve left me waiting long enough, my dear, although I can’t complain if it was to change your attire; it’s an improvement,” he coolly addressed her as she stood there in momentary dumb shock while he adjusted one of his gloves, looking her over! He was dressed all in white, even though it appeared to be his beetle-like plate armor and cloak, which had been black before!   “I was beginning to think perhaps you had simply come to the rational conclusion and given up. But no,” he met her eyes again, “that wouldn’t be _you_ ,” he smirked tauntingly.

 _He thinks we’re still in the Labyrinth!_ she suddenly realized, wondering if this phantom could even see the others – or where they truly were! But if she believed that he _could_ …she could still hear the fracas, the arguing!

“Look, I know that this is probably against your ‘rules of the game’, but I’m calling an official time-out: we’ve got bigger problems!”  

Complicated incantations were in-progress below them, above on the second-story landing!

The form of the Goblin King cocked his head to one side, his mismatched eyes staring across at her in open disbelief. “Does this mean you are actually willing to-”

“Duck!” she screamed, bodily pulling him out of the way as another projectile Net spell whizzed past them, straight through the shimmering staircase to ricochet off the wall!

“What the bloody hell?!” he turned in the direction the attack had come from, finally surveying his surroundings, glancing about. “How did _they_ get in here?! Neither of them has even wished anything! And whichever of them put _that_ there is going to pay!” he roared, pointing to the clearly unwanted incendiary decoration which, to his way of thinking, ruined his nice, nausea-inducing visual illusion!

“Hold your horses there, Jareth, it’s not so much a matter of ‘them getting here’ as an ‘ _us_ getting _there’_! There’s no time to explain it-”

“Of course there is,” he quietly snickered a bit insolently… and all the action about them suddenly slowed down to the speed of old molasses! “Now, _do_ stop being an annoying, pushy little bint and just tell me what this is all about,” he crossed his arms.

As he said this, Sarah almost thought she was hallucinating when she saw another of him dash by in slow motion on the other side of the room, upside-down, readying a crystal to hurl down! She blinked a few times; the second Jareth remained, readying his baseball-like pitch!

“And make it quick; I can’t keep this up forever!” the Jareth before her snapped impatiently, openly staring at the glowing, glinting Dreamstone about her neck as if he hadn’t seen it until just now.

 _Simple version – right._ Telling this incredibly convincing simulacrum that he wasn’t even as real as a Pattern-ghost wasn’t in the offing at all. “It really _would_ take too long to explain everything that’s going on here, but we’re currently in that sorceress’ fortress,” she pointed down at a near-motionless Jasra who appeared to have been caught in the process of saying something… as another Jareth appeared behind the lady! “And I have to get out of here before she does something unspeakably awful with _this_ ,” she unconsciously touched the Stone, watching her Jareth become even more solid-looking. The fire below was starting to slowly rise higher in the fount!   “Her son may try to stop me as well,” she pointed out Rinaldo, “but that lady up there is on our side,” she indicated Nayda.

“ _Our_?” the king noted her usage with amusement, his mocking expression quickly reasserting itself.   “ _So_ … now this would only be an educated guess on my part, but I’m getting the general impression that you wish for some manner of _assistance_.” Two more of him flanked Rinaldo in different stances! “I would seem to be in no danger personally unless I obviously take your side, and I can defend myself adequately if attacked for any reason; that’s a given. But _you_ – a girl of perennial disasters, always in need of a ‘friend’ to use…”

Sarah found his level of attention eerily unsettling, yet more unsettlingly sexy if she dared think it for even a moment! She stood her ground bravely, forcing herself to continue breathing as he reached toward her and languorously stroked her cheek with a decidedly intimate light in his eyes.

“You should know by now that I never do work like this for free,” he added as a fifth Jareth-clone appeared upside-down in the middle of the ceiling!   “But I might be persuaded for the right price… starting with, say, your _brother_ ; that would be half-payment, one assassination, perhaps the boy since you see him as the lesser of the two threats.” He took a step closer. Too close. “I think you know what I would accept for the demise of the witch.”

“But I don’t _want_ you to kill them!” Sarah frantically corrected his assessment!   “Can’t you just keep them busy long enough for me to get out of here in one piece with the Stone?”

With an irritated, clipped sigh, the king snapped his fingers and all the doubles instantly changed position somewhat! “Whether or not you realize it, clemency is going to be far harder to deliver, with neither of my opponents pulling _their_ arcane punches. I will expect commensurate compensation in return,” he whispered huskily.

If Sarah wasn’t nervous before, she certainly was now – and in more ways than one!

… and then, flying in the face of all this exotic stimuli, she suddenly remembered: he wasn’t _real_! Half the present contents of this room weren’t technically real! She’d met the real Jareth after her trial with the Fixed Logrus over which he had once ruled, and he had shown absolutely no sensual interest in her at all, writing her off as some snotty little kid! Granted, she _was_ a bit older now, technically an adult, but his change in demeanor toward her was simply too extreme of a turnaround!

Unless her subconscious knew that she required a version of him that would be more willing to work with and for… _her_. The implications made her want to gag, but she had to admit it made the most sense of anything that was going on here. And chances were the moment she took the Dreamstone back off, he would vanish like the skewed memory he was, if not before!

In short, she could actually afford to agree to his preposterously monstrous terms in good faith… because he would _never_ come to collect!

“I’ll grant you another eighteen nanoseconds to decide, just to be generous,” he abruptly butted into her train-of-thought, “but I will warn you that should you refuse, all the moves I’ve been setting up in advance will be taken back before you can blink, and that sorceress will likely have you in her power in about ten seconds flat.”

Sarah was so distracted by this new information that she didn’t immediately think to say yes!   “How are you… what are you _doing_?”

“Stacking the deck to ensure my odds, naturally,” he gave her a mocking smile. “I have no doubt that your enemies here are quite capable in the present, but what about the past and the future, I wonder? Speaking of which, your time it almost up-”

“Yes!” she blurted before she could consider the sheer madness of the entire situation any further! “You can have us both – but not right now. Later, once I’ve reached a place of safety,” she nodded, trying to act more confident than she felt.

The Goblin King’s grin turned foxlike as the world started to gradually speed up again. “The moment I so much as lay eyes upon you again out of danger, you’re _mine_ ,” he purred – another Jareth right behind her unexpectedly leaned in and kissed the side of her neck in an erotic slow-motion, making her knees treacherously wobble a little! “Until next time, Precious,” the original kissed the back of her hand as his double continued tasting her delicate skin just below her left ear…

And time sped back up to normal… and all the Jareths went into extreme fast-forward, speeding away!  

“ _Fugue-_ melee!   Look out!” Jasra barely had time to scream from below before her whole attention was suddenly riveted to her skin: she had never itched so terribly in her life! Only the pain from her long nails raking her arms, chest, and back served to restore her to her senses! She banished the irritation spell, only to see Rinaldo’s breeches strangely moving upon his body: earwigs were falling out upon the floor as he ripped at them!   Another simple banishment took care of it… and immediately a venomous snake wrapped about Jasra’s neck; it had been thrown there! As she subdued it with her own neurotoxic mouth-stinger, Rinaldo was working a distortion spell that would make the only viable exit appear to be right in front of him – only to have his concentration interrupted by slugs pelting him in the face!

Meanwhile, Nayda had managed to cross the room and was working on freeing the front door for Sarah, but a fresh curtain of fire fell across the wall, then down, and she had to leap away to avoid being hit by it!

The place didn’t even have windows to break through to escape, which was starting to feel about as likely as just swimming away in a bathing suit from a deeply submerged submarine! Sarah’s only present consolation was that it meant that none of those soldiers she had seen could get _in_ , either! Not that it made things much better! At least her version of Jareth was acquitting himself with aplomb. It was actually sort of scary how good he really was:   he had become a one-man shooting gallery, seeming to be in many places at once for fractions of a second, deploying some of the most dastardly annoying spellwork Sarah had ever seen with the adroit precision of a virtuoso! How had she ever made it through the Fixed Logrus at all, she suddenly wondered? He had to have either voluntarily curtailed his own power use in order to observe what the Labyrinth would do to her on its own, or it had to do with that-

A dark compulsion nearly made contact with her mind, but she shielded against it out of knee-jerk habit… by using the Pattern! She had just called up the Sign for a fraction of a second to banish the spell without meaning to! Was that why both Jasra and Rinaldo were keeping their distance like they were?   Because _they_ were actually afraid of _her_ , of what she might unknowingly be capable of?! It was quite a heady thought, but she wasn’t certain how far she wanted to test it under current circumstances, especially if it would wear her out quickly!

She looked for Jareth – and saw that Jasra had almost succeeded in tying him up in his own scarf-trick, lengthening the strips of gauzy fabric out like a gigantic pair of brilliantly-colored moray eels, swimming through the air after him before another of his lightning-fast teleports! Music started playing out of absolutely nowhere, and Rinaldo involuntarily danced a couple measures before jamming the frequency with white noise, fishing for Sarah yet again, this time with a panic burst, painting himself as ‘safe.’ The working actually made it through this time, but unbeknownst to him the sensation was so familiar to her in variation from back when she used to work with the Fixed Logrus that Sarah required no magic at all to accept and subliminate the effects!   Nayda’s continuing attempts at reopening the room were still getting thwarted regularly, even though she seemed to be in little physical danger herself no matter what came her way; it was deterrent magic only! At one point, she made the mistake of coming too close to Rinaldo to try and freeze him, and he caught her by surprise – with a passionate kiss! But she slumped unconscious in his arms, falling to the Reverse Sleeping Beauty, and he gently lay her down at the base of the blazing, swirling Fount, out of the game.

Jasra was clearly done playing footsie herself: she had dispensed with using carefully preconstructed High Magic spellwork in favor of directly working with the immense powers of the Fount; she superficially resembled a spider in the center of a brightly glowing, golden web constructed of cables of raw force! The colors pulsed, changing hue, as she rose into the air to directly confront both of her opponents; Jareth appeared behind her to pinch her butt, sniggering wickedly as she swiped for him in vain, passing through nothing yet again! Her gaze returned to Sarah – who had taken the brief respite to distance herself once more!

“You have to realize that even using a proxy like this is going to drain you. I would rather it did not come to that; you are being very rash and reckless with your strength, if not your-”

A giant slashing machine dropped out of the ceiling in the sorceress’ direction; she dodged it easily, then genuinely laughed as the whole ridiculous-looking contraption vanished harmlessly into the floor! “What did I tell you? Even now your reserves are beginning to severely wane. You _were_ trained in more than Thari in Chaos, weren’t you?   For as much temporal aggravation as you have needlessly caused me this night, I will admit that it has been quite an impressive display for an amateur. Call truce now and we can discuss matters further like civilized adults.   I’ve been trying very hard _not_ to hurt you, believe it or not; it’s easier said than done – _oh_!”

Sarah’s own eyes watered on the spot as well: Jareth had recreated the stench of the Bog to revolting, stomach-churning perfection!   Taking advantage of the momentary sensory distraction, she jogged across the shining flights again, toward the right-hand side of the Citadel; if she had to immediately flee into Denjak from here, one way or another it was probably best to try to stay on this side… or did it matter? Was she only fooling herself that she could actually get away from these two, even temporarily?

To her surprise and horror, her stairs started to _vanish_ , being consumed from the edges in by those fiery cables, forcing her closer to the center! As if in anticipation of the outcome perhaps all of fifteen seconds from now, a huge parachute-like structure inflated directly under her on the stone floor, to cushion her impending fall! It smelled so lovely…to simply drift into it…like a cloud…

Abruptly some part of her mind registered that she hadn’t seen any of the Jareths at all in a while; her eyes slowly scanned the room for him… until she saw him out on a portion of the already-consumed staircase, still standing there as if nothing had changed! Only _he_ was changing:   rather than appearing pastel, he was glowing brightly, taking in some of the new power! Winking at her weak smile, putting a gloved finger to his lips – making her shudder at the memory in spite of her current mental state – he tossed a crystal filled with golden light to the floor on the left-hand side of the room; by the time it was there, he had not only doubled down his previous course of interdiction with a fresh and positively giddy vengeance, but the crystal had morphed into two goblins and the largest cannon Sarah had ever seen!   With an order to fire, the thing was set alight and from it exploded ordinance the size of a wrecking ball!   Even stranger was how slowly it was traveling… and that it had handlebars along the back of it!

It was headed straight toward her!

“ _Grab it_!” she heard Jareth yell from about three different directions at once, as armed goblins flooded the floor-level out of absolutely nowhere to harry the king of Kashfa into physically defending himself with a saber that he just grabbed from the Fount, its blade shining liquid fire! Jasra was currently concentrating on how to trap and subdue the more dangerous of her two nuisances when the distinct sensation of downward tugging caught her attention… and she beheld an army of goblins trying to pull her to the floor by her own cords of power, to the cry of ‘heave-ho!’ in English!   Before she could shoot them off, a bevy of them clambered up as well as if the cords were nothing more than ratlines, swarming her en masse! She finally managed to electrically shock them off all at once, watching as their ugly, armored, twitching little bodies hit the ground – only to spring back up, guffawing and cackling madly! One of them shouted, “Again!” like a child, and at once they resumed their efforts in the same manner as before with the nonchalant can-do attitude of magically impervious workers at some arcane construction site! A few others had figured out that the stinky parachute construct was bouncy and were using it to catapult themselves at Jasra’s steadily sinking form instead of climbing up!

It was a madhouse!   Jasra had never seen creatures like this in her entire life! They weren’t even like the native denizens of the Abyss; in fact, they were strangely _childlike_ little imps, shaking off her attacks both physically and psychologically as if she were merely playing a game with them, always coming back for more punishment with clinically insane glee! They cared nothing for themselves – which _did_ put her in mind of the Logrus’ lackeys – but it was an indifference that was more along the lines of _any_ sensation at all being pleasurable!

But what about a lack of sensation? Before she could commence a sensory deprivation spell, she dropped several feet before stabilizing again… and automatically glanced up as she fell, in time to spot her unknown adversary standing on the wall off to one corner, making snipping motions with the fingers of his left hand like a pair of shears, lopping off the power emanations she had been drawing from the walls and ceiling! One of the little imps on the floor near the Fount (which some of them were busily splashing about in like it was a wading pool, the battle clean forgotten!) was trying to annoy Nayda awake… and it seemed to be working!

Sarah took a deep breath as the cannonball came within three feet of her, slowing even further, and she jumped, grabbing the bar firmly with both hands; it wasn’t even hot! Rather than just hanging off it vertically like she was afraid she would at its current speed, her body was pulled along behind it in the same direction of its general force! When she reached the wall about a minute later, she felt the slow-motion impact but tightened her grip, closing her eyes, not wanting to see…

No masonry hit her on the way out; she opened her eyes again – in time to see the thick, guarded outer wall she was sailing over, the expression on the soldiers’ faces one of amazement, then anger, yet the order to fire on her was held back! Instead, she saw a great movement, of making ready to chase after her!

But at the moment – which seemed to be stretching out unnaturally long – she had a more immediate problem: the Münchausen Cannonball (for that was what it was, she was sure of it now) was losing altitude!   Deliberately letting go before it could crash, she landed rolling very slowly in soft snow, feeling the ground shake as the huge chunk of metal came to rest also about thirty yards ahead of her; it took so long to get there! Gracious, but she was tired!

 _The Stone!_ It had to be pulling on her life-force at this point! The time-flow effect she had just experienced – was still experiencing – was none of Jareth’s doing!

She had to take it off right this instant! Glancing back to the Keep, she could hear the sounds of the ongoing fracas in slow-motion from all the way out here; one way or another, it was all about to end.   She closed her eyes.

 _Jareth, wherever you truly are, you crazy, inventive son-of-a-gun, be well,_ she willed charitably with a touch of rueful gratitude as she lifted the heavy necklace over her head…

And collapsed in the snow and the night, suddenly bitterly cold: she hadn’t even felt it up until this moment! Shaking, and not just from the frigid temperature, she stiffly sat up and pried her rolled up woolen cloak out of her carryall and placed the Dreamstone back inside the bag, with no time to roughly bundle it in anything other than her clothing, her fingers already numbing; the blouse would make do for the time being. Unsteadily getting back up, she wrapped herself as warmly as she was able (wishing she had the time to pull on her pants underneath the dress as well but unwilling to take off her boots under the circumstances to do so), and started out across the featureless frozen wilderness, a cruelly biting wind filling her tracks with dry snow as she went along. Doing her best to will an inn or somesuch into existence, imagining the cozy bed she’d been dragged out of for this brutal excursion, she did her best not to fall asleep from hypothermia in the process, wrapping her hands inside the woolen fabric of her long sleeves to keep her fingers from getting frostbitten.

 _And if Prince Corwin were in that room, waiting for me to wake up the next day, like he was back in Amber…_ She suddenly laughed at an unbidden, wayward thought! It was that version of Jareth’s fault, of course, for getting her mind going like this tonight, but she couldn’t afford to spare the wanton phantom any more of her conscious mind, with what she was trying to do at present. At least the prince, helpful or not, was reality.

 _And he produces good body heat, too_ , she remembered, indulging the silly thought a little further, picking up her pace in spite of her fatigue out of the need to keep her own temperature up, wrapping the edge of the cloak over her nose and mouth. _Just behind… that glacier will be… an inn…_

Summoning what strength she had left, silently petitioning the Pattern, the true Bright Lady, for help, she broke into a desperate run…

* * *

 

For the briefest of moments, a man who had once been nearly a god felt _lucid_ , as if his current existence, his luxuriantly decadent mansion, the pile of gorgeously-formed women in his soft feather bed which was currently draped in lavishly dyed silks, were all just a prolonged _fever-dream_ , that true reality existed somewhere beyond this plane of existence… then the sweet sensations started again and his mind went away.

But he would remember, would examine the oddity later whilst the others slept, for he had his ways…

* * *

 

The phantom that resembled a shadow-man named Jareth remained stone-faced as he was forced to watch the fires of the Black Stone Fount consume his retainers in a terrible wave like flowing lava, despite their screams and infantile cries, as a dead-looking ancient wizard caused the controlled overflow before sinking back into the fiery pool himself, the level banking back down with him. The Goblin King was currently bound, not in the cables of power, but in a chain contraption of the mundane Houdini variety, ensorcelled to ensure that he couldn’t teleport away, suspended in midair precariously above the fire. Even when the pearlescent staircases had spontaneously vanished into the air, all the other constructs had experienced a strangely continued existence due to the fact that the first of them had thought to dip into the Fount’s resources himself!

It was how Jasra had finally _nailed_ him.

His indifferent composure was almost appalling. “If you’re going to destroy me, be about it,” he commented flippantly as if the matter couldn’t mean less to him! “Even were you to torture me, you would learn nothing of any value since you are obviously higher-order initiates than I. It would be a pointless waste of your precious time,” he continued in his own dialect of Thari, which was technically comprehensible to his audience, but hardly one of the ‘pure’ strains.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with him,” Rinaldo added from his own perch, about a third of the way up the left-hand flight of stairs, his flaming sword still trained on their prisoner (remembering what Merlin had taught him of trisp dueling in the Courts, wondering if he could lengthen his current ‘blade’ similarly), “but we’ve got to find that kid before she gets into _real_ trouble or something happens to that Stone! Wherever she went, the trail should still be fresh enough to follow; she can’t have gotten far. By your leave,” he inclined his head toward his mother and turned on his heel to go; Nayda had been ‘put to bed’ already without incident.

“Not so fast,” Jasra chided him, “you would only scare the girl further, and the issue of the agency involved here has yet to be clarified to my satisfaction: even if she _did_ call upon the Dreamstone for aid in this – which is undoubtedly the case – how could it summon up proto-Chaosian phenomena?”   She walked down the stairs on the right-hand side with purpose, lowering the lines upon which Jareth was suspended, bringing him closer to the flames until they were practically licking at his boots.   “For that is what you _are_ , sir:   a mere arcane phenomenon, with all the noncorporal nonsense that goes along with it. My power alone is currently all that is sustaining your existence; if you wish to remain as you are, you will give answer for yourself.   How do _you_ know that girl?   What is she to you, that you battle so hard on her behalf?”

Jareth quietly chuckled, his lips spreading in a slow, knowing grin. “Must you interrogate one such as myself with such stupidly obvious questions?” he openly taunted her. “But I suppose the answer you’re really looking for it that she is currently a paying client, so-to-speak; she merely renegotiated our previous terms just now. I’ll be getting the better end of the contract, though, with two sacrifices for the Logrus instead of just the one I was promised, the second of which I should be able to enjoy myself for a time before the change comes over her.” A wild light danced in his eyes.

“Then I _was_ correct,” Jasra responded, loosening his bonds a bit while keeping him secure, seeing his shoulders shift to a more comfortable position, “but it gets me no further in resolving the incongruity.”

“Perhaps I can,” Rinaldo offered, cautiously joining her below. “If the Dreamstone acts upon the memories and fantasies of the mind that wields it, theoretically it could probably conjure up just about anything – think of what my father told us of Tir-na Nog’th, of the kinds of things _I_ saw up there! I’m not even sure that this fellow is like his ‘real’ counterpart; consider the circumstances, what she _needed_ ,” he carefully worded his statement. “We already know that the ‘ghosts’ put forth by the two powers can be altered that way, and be unaware of it themselves.   Now, really I should be about tracking her-”

“ _You_ shouldn’t,” his mother interrupted him slyly, looking up, “he _should_. Return to your kingdom in the morning with your charming _wife_. We have someone here who knows that girl far more intimately, it would seem, someone who can anticipate her actions, her foibles, someone she wouldn’t automatically run from.   With my power at his disposal…”

Jareth took his time in answering; he appeared to be sizing Jasra up semi-seriously for perhaps the first time. “You provide some amusing fodder for thought, witch. However, I’ve known any number of sorceresses just like you in the past – not in caliber or luck, but in personality, certainly. Your type is invariably worth a good, satisfying tumble or two, but at the end of the day you’re not worth your own excrement when it comes to more serious matters of trust, on _any_ level. To come to the point, what assurance – if, indeed, _any_ – could you possibly give me, that I might be willing (or capable) of believing, that you won’t pull the plug on me or leave me a lobotomized slave like that pathetic-looking limey of the fiery deeps down below,” he nodded toward the Fount beneath him, “the very moment I’m no longer of immediate use to you?   That seems like a terrible amount of legwork on my part for the exact same payoff – and if this is the true case as things stand, then I’d rather save myself the bother and simply get where I’m obviously going to end up anyway.”

“Even I’d find it hard to argue down this guy,” Rinaldo commented appreciatively. “I wouldn’t care to guess at his sanity, but his rational faculties when it comes to himself seem to be intact.”

Jasra considered the matter, taking the opportunity to study her prisoner’s almost lewdly exposed physique through his white breeches. “What would you say if I were to defer the initial… pleasantries of our working relationship to point-of-delivery of the power item and the girl over to me? At which point you may find me highly amenable to… renegotiations of my own.”

“Mother!”

“Please, Rinaldo, I am still perfectly capable of defending my own honor… not that there’s much left to defend these days,” she sighed, sounding tired.

Jareth only smirked.   “I’d suspected about as much. I suppose _that_ level of assurance might be granted, depending on your… self-sufficiency in the interim, madam,” he bluntly gave answer.

“Never cared much for that.   Call me Jasra.” She motioned, and the suspended figure floated toward them, away from the Fount, until his feet touched the floor. Standing normally, he was probably about her height out of those boots. “What do you say?” she addressed her captive. “I think you comprehend my full terms already. Or would your ideological loyalty to the Logrus serve to prevent you from accepting a secondary, conflicting commission, even with the pot sweetened?”

“Well, given what I have only just learned of my existence, I’m not about to off myself merely to prove a point, especially since I appear to be all dressed up with nowhere to go.   Whatever shall I do with myself?” he flirted.

“How refreshingly pragmatic of you, sir,” the sorceress genuinely smiled.

“Jareth,” he finally named himself, nodding in lieu of a bow; he was still stiffly trussed enough that he could barely move. “Guardian of the last Fixed Logrus, what mortals have learned to fear as the Labyrinth.”

Jasra’s smile dropped off her face; she blankly stared at him for a moment. “The _Fixed_ Logrus, you say? You are not of Chaos, then?”

“Ah, vengeful Lady Lust,” he laughed, “you forget yourself already, my dear: I am of _nowhere_ … and I suppose that means _she_ planned on skipping out on paying me as well. A pity,” he rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in distaste with a shake of the head. “Some people simply have no code of honor.”

For a moment as the sorceress saw him in profile, the strangest feeling of familiarity came over her, and it was far greater than the way he was shamelessly coming onto her at present. She had seen his face – or someone _very_ like him – before…


	7. Winter

_(Tori Amos, Little Earthquakes: ‘Winter’ – maybe not as obvious as it appears…)_

* * *

 

Chapter 6 – Winter

White.

White as the Abyss was black.

Completely, inescapably, deathly-freezing white, broken up behind her eyes only, where it transmuted into the violently bright emerald of snow-blindness.

There was, in fact, no further reason to bother looking at all. She knew what would be there.

What would always be there.

What would be there when she lay down and _died_.

Sarah had rapidly trundled all the way out to the glacier she had spotted from the Keep of the Four Worlds; she had even managed to will closer to her! But upon seeing what the far side of it had hidden, that she had also been mentally working on, her heart sank: nothing. No sign of human or even alien life whatsoever. She had been concentrating so hard on her intended shadow-shift that she had actually managed to give herself a throbbing headache, but it obviously hadn’t been sufficiently uniform intention; her current sensory stimuli was simply too harsh, too viscerally extreme, to keep it from invading her thoughts!

Although the effect _was_ good at propagating more of the same: an uneasy glance over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears: the Keep, and its other adjacent shadowlands, were _gone_. The Courts of Chaos weren’t Hell; Denjak was. There was nothing here but ancient death and suffering, in body and mind.   Any respite that the sunstar could possibly provide was yet hours away… which meant that it might even get colder.   Doing her best not to cry (for fear that the moisture would instantly freeze to her skin), Sarah hurriedly dug her ice-cold stiff trousers and blouse out of her bag, momentarily warming her fingertips with the Stone first; using it had taken far too much out of her before – she was likely only prolonging the inevitable. Ripping off her boots and cloak, she thrust the extra garments on as fast as humanly possible as the cold wind bit any exposed skin like fire, then donned the rest over it again. The extra layer wasn’t much warmer, but it was better than nothing.   What she could remember of that scanty map of Denjak wasn’t worth knowing: the weather shifted the landscape slowly over time, eons. An unnatural cataclysm had caused a partial fallout of the upper atmosphere, burying all the life that had once been here beneath several miles of solid water-based ice, artificially increasing the planet’s surface girth by approximately 20,000 feet (or so had been hastily estimated by the unknown cartographer, who must’ve had an easier exit plan.)

Big friggin’ whoop.

She had to at least keep moving; it was the only option left. She hadn’t even had any time to gather supplies. Pulling the generously-sized hood closed over her face to warm her ears and nose (she was starting to feel her eyeballs, too, which couldn’t be good), Sarah desperately tried to center herself once more.

 _Okay, brain, I’m going to run backwards and widdershins in a tight circle until I feel certain that there’s a Swiss ski chalet with free hot cocoa and a roaring fireplace up on the base of that glacier,_ she deliberately willed, not above a little self-programming at this point if it would work. _Twenty-two circuits… twenty-five…closer… closer…_ she smelled burning wood from the fireplace at last, opened her eyes-

And screamed in frustration: _still_ nothing! She was too damned cold to think of anything else!   The sound of her voice echoed for miles, loosening a little of the accumulated snow pack from the near-side of the glacier, rolling it down in silent snowballs. She glanced up, suddenly fearful that she might have triggered a serious slide… but nothing further happened, and she shuddered a sigh of relief.

 _Over what?!_ a rather cynical part of her thought. _At least it would’ve been over with quick! Demons tend to overestimate what a human can handle; you know that! Every sentient being is individuo-centric until sufficiently educated otherwise, and sometimes not even then!_ She forced herself to start walking again just to keep her legs from freezing stiff; that alone was a rather ominous feeling. Patterners were admittedly handicapped by their inherent need for self-propulsion in the shifting process; even when physically paralyzed, the fingers of the Logrus could be relied upon to pull an incapacitated Chaosian to safety if they were not otherwise injured and still of sound enough mind. Order was, ironically enough, more demanding…

What to do, what to do… if only she could just be warmer for one second maybe she could think straight!   A light blanket of snow was silently accumulating over her cloak as thick, dry flakes fell all about her…

 _A nice down jacket, a fur rug, a serape, anything! Please!_ she mentally pled with the multiverse, not really expecting an answer.

Just a few yards on a muffled sound other than the snow crunching beneath her feet met her ears… then stopped. Had some benevolent power just dropped her a care package?! She listened intently for a few seconds, then reluctantly peeked out of her woolly cocoon…

Not fifty yards from where she stood, downhill, there were little wisps of steam rising… like breath. Then that stopped as well.

Carefully picking her way sideways down the icy, snow-covered slope, trying not to roll, she finally spotted something that was _not_ white, but a dun-brown-and-cream in the harsh moonlight that was breaking through the cloud-cover. With huge pale antlers…

 _Oh , no.   Nonononono, not this!_ she thought frantically, skidding the rest of the way down and over to the fallen animal: it was a huge adult male reindeer of all things, seemingly healthy, no outward signs of any disease, any wasting or starvation, in the prime of life. She had just watched it die! The creature hadn’t even gotten to close its gentle brown eyes, the carcass warm enough that a little steam could be seen lifting from it at close-range!   Sarah felt as if she would be physically sick: if she was personally responsible for this magnificent animal’s untimely demise she would never forgive herself! It had been such a stupid, selfish, vague wish! The whole situation was more than she could bear: she fell to her knees, lying upon the reindeer’s cooling side, her right arm flung about its back, and sobbed her eyes out. It was all her fault. This was _all_ her fault! If only she’d been braver or cleverer or stronger or prouder or humbler, _maybe_ it wouldn’t have gone this way! Maybe everything would still be as it _should_ be!

If only, if only, if only…

Once she had spent the worst of her outburst, sogging up the musky beast’s fur coat where her face had been, she pulled back, stiffly standing, coldly reminding herself that both food and clothing were present in this unwanted sacrifice, and that it would be an even greater sin to let it go to waste out here, but Sarah didn’t have it in her to attempt to roughly skin the animal, although makeshift tools of sharp rock and ice could be had at a moment’s notice. She bent and stroked the soft, thick muzzle, driftingly watching how it sparkled in the moonlight, with delicate snowflakes beginning to decorate it… It was so beautiful… it almost reminded her of something…

The Dreamstone!   The unbidden thought shocked her alert again, in spite of her cold-enhanced fatigue. Did the artifact contain enough power to reanimate something?   Not in the manner of the Courts’ voodoo-like rites to infuse fresh corpses with foreign spirits, but to return true Anima to a previously living being?

Sarah rationally knew that such a power-surge would likely mean the end of her own life, but frankly at this point she was beyond caring. She was going to do one thing _right_ before she went! Clumsily digging the Stone out of the bottom of the bag where it had fallen when she had retrieved the other clothing, her fingers now painfully numb and decidedly red, she managed to bring it over her head once more, wincing her eyes closed against the impending glare… Light shone redly through her eyelids as she firmly clasped the artifact in her hands, feeling the gathering energy – dragging on her own over-extended life-force – then leaned forward, to press it to the fallen reindeer…

And fell on her face in the snow, absorbing the jolt herself! Coughing and spluttering, she sat back up in confusion… only to discover that the corpse had vanished clean off the face of Denjak! There was a sizable indent where the animal had lain but moments before, but no further traces to be found whatsoever! Forcibly straightening her legs to stand, Sarah commenced to inwardly curse her own naïve stupidity once again-

A deep, odd, almost hog-like snorting sound cut the negative thought-pattern short; she automatically looked up, and over…

Standing there proudly not thirty feet away, watching her intently, was a _silver_ reindeer!   At first Sarah thought she might be hallucinating from hypothermia and her fraught nerves, and she blinked a few times, shaking her head to clear it.

The magnificent creature was still there, puffing warm breaths, watching her expectantly. She could swear there was a look of intelligence in its large grey eyes… not brown, _grey_!

 _Oh, of course!   The Stone’s still affecting my vision!_ Chastising her incredulous faith in her senses (the suddenly pearlescent snow should’ve been a dead giveaway), Sarah lifted the heavy silver chain up over her head again…

The animal was still silver, starkly so in the silvery moonlight that was cutting through the sporadic clouds… and he was still watching her, his pale eyes shining clear!   With another snort and a slight nod of the head, he commenced cantering away from her at an easy ‘slow’ speed… and Sarah found that her feet were no longer cold, her legs truly warming, and her torso and arms – and it was not the final fiery warmth of freezing to death!   She wasn’t tired at all!

It only took her another second to realize what was happening: she tore off after the creature, having to run to try to keep up, certain that it was magickal now, perhaps even more than it seemed at this moment! Away they flew, across snowy embankments and over fluffy hills, until at length there began to be less and less of the freezing substances, the white covering of the sterile ground thinner and thinner, leaving exposed patches of rock in certain places that she had to be careful not to trip over-

Green! There – and here again: moss! And were those tiny yellow flowers peeking up through a drift?! She heard the hair-raisingly eerie sound of wolves vocalizing as a hunting pack off in the distance, but the reindeer didn’t even pause, plunging ahead through Shadow-tundra, once looking over his great shoulder, as if to make sure that Sarah was still behind him! Her blood was certainly pumping now; she was so hot she was sweating in spite of the frigid temperature… which must’ve been slightly warmer now, for these ground plants to be alive! The reindeer had to dodge a boggy marsh to their left, the human girl behind him carefully marking his tracks; there were more of them coming up ahead. The back of her throat was burning and her mouth tasted terrible, but at least they were amongst life again!   The scent of a bear came, but went just as quickly…

Sarah’s head was finally beginning to spin from the exertion – and likely dehydration – as the reindeer led her up an easy incline… was it a hill?   She could barely pay attention, her conscious mind starting to drift again, for other reasons than before.   All she knew was that when he reached the top, he vocalized loudly, high and clear, then looked back… and when she reached the plateau herself, staggering, her legs shaking, she was suddenly dreadfully cold, shivering again, weak… blurry, shimmering human shapes were running toward her… but the silver reindeer was _gone_ …

* * *

 

Messy palimpsest

Overlapping negative

In a stark moonlight

Rendering the cobblestones

Of the True City

Bright as day

As phantoms trade, barter, sell

Their colorless wares

On the streets of Amber:

Translucent fruit

Pearlescent fabrics

And ephemeral metalworking

From a smith that looks strangely familiar

Yet none will approach.

Closed shops bustle silently

With their ghostly clientele

As frightened children are hushed

By frightened mothers

And fathers

Upstairs.

* * *

 

… the smell of dried herbs, pungent fermentation, and… fish?

Sarah cracked her eyes open through a notably thick layer of sleep-crud, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings again: at least she was _warm_. She was reclined, covered in soft leathers of some kind from the feel, the smell-

Leather! The Silver Reindeer! Her eyes flew open wide and she looked down… and relaxed: it _wasn’t_ reindeer-hide; they were made from something else, furrier, softer. She was lying on a thin pallet bed which was raised a couple feet off the dirt floor, alongside a mud-daub wall, with support timbers that showed through every few feet, surrounded by other such beds circling the periphery of the room – with the forms of people in them! She appeared to be in some sort of longhouse: away over there was the communal fire pit in the center of the room, smoke collecting up at the ceiling, slowly exiting a tiny vent chimney.   The roof was sloped down to the walls about halfway, and at the moment the light was dim. As her eyes slowly adjusted, Sarah finally noticed the small ivory-carved figurine that had been suspended on a tiny piece of string over her cot, but it was difficult to distinguish at first, until the air currents from the fire turned it a bit more…

_Oh, it’s supposed to be a reindeer…_

Right. Somehow, a magickal creature had just happened to be in the right place at the right time to hear her screaming her lungs out on Denjak in her desperately dire need, then, for whatever reason, decided to stick around and not only hear but honor her vague petition for help?! The more she thought about it, the more the whole situation was beginning to look staged. Those cosmic playing-pieces were being moved – that much was almost dead-certain – but by who? Dworkin or Suhuy? Whose turn had caused this outcome?

She tried to sit up… only to find that her hands were wrapped snugly in strips of leather, fur-side in. _Oh, man, did I actually sustain frostbite?_ she briefly wondered. It didn’t hurt like it, though. Maybe the step had just been preventative. Slowly raising herself, feeling her stiff back, she finally noticed that she was still sort of weak, like she’d been bedridden with illness.   As she quietly surveyed the room in hopes of spotting the latrine, she saw a woman in a heavy leather coat trimmed with fur bringing in more earthen kindling on the wrapped pack on her back, but at the sight of Sarah sitting up she quickly set it down by the slim hallway she had just come out of, ripped off her leather glove-mittens and hurried over to the fire, pouring something white into an ivory cup, walking over, presenting it to the girl, speaking quietly and gently to her in a foreign tongue, her dark-brown almond-eyes filled with concern!

Sarah accepted the unknown hot libation awkwardly with a slow nod, cradling the cup in her still-wrapped hands, studying the woman as she sipped it; the steaming substance was sourer than unsweetened yogurt, but was probably about as nourishing, she would guess, some form of animal dairy. The woman’s cast and facial features made her appear somewhere between Inuit and Mongolian in ethnicity, her black hair braided back, currently tucked into her collar, but Sarah had no idea where this place lay on the Shadow-spectrum; it was almost certainly not Earth! The woman watched Sarah in turn curiously as she crossed the room, removing her own outer wraps and hanging them up along the wall to dry; once Sarah had finished the unknown drink, she moved to fill her cup again, but the girl finally managed to sign what she really needed, and was led to a small, dark side-room down the thin hallway, away from the light, from the main living quarters. The woman unwrapped the girl’s hands before she left her, casually throwing the spent herb-stalks that had been hidden within into the frozen hole in the ground.

By the time Sarah wandered back in, more women were awake and up: there were _only_ women here! At her appearance, a hushed babble in a long-flowing, consonantal speech commenced among them; she awkwardly lifted one of her still-pink hands in greeting at the short doorway as a few began to approach.

“Nobody here speaks any Thari, right?” she tried experimentally, slowly walking back in, toward the fire. “How about English? Please tell me ‘paleface’ explorers haven’t come speaking _this_ tongue yet?”

Like she thought, the only languages she knew were foreign to them also, but they still managed to communicate with her by rough signs that she was welcome here, although some eyed her with thinly-veiled caution, as if she had just fallen from the sky!  

All their clothing was leather and fur, and almost all their food appeared to be animal-based; the latitude had to have been too high to grow or otherwise cultivate anything much that humans could eat. It wasn’t mere elevation; there was plenty of air. To Sarah’s surprise, ‘breakfast’ consisted of dried berries and raw fatty fish – frozen! – cut into thin strips and obviously meant to be eaten that way!

 _It’s just sushi on ice_ , she thought, chewing down her larger portion ravenously; it actually wasn’t half-bad, but the method was probably an acquired taste. Water was provided in the form of ice slabs, melted in skin-containers near the fire, and once the meal was concluded Sarah drank her fill, carefully rinsing off her hands and face so as not to waste any of what she had been given.

Once this was finished, most of the women seemed to set about what were likely their normal tasks, like this was just another day-in-the-life for them, even with the peculiar company: some sewing hides together by hand with sinew thread and bone needles to make more clothing, or scraping and preparing fresh skins, or tending to the smoked preserved meat Sarah now saw near the fire, or bundling up to the teeth to go outside for whatever reasons.

Basically being ignored for the moment, Sarah wandered back over to her cot and sat down, noting that her carryall and cloak had been carefully placed beneath it. It was sort of warm in here, but not overly toasty; she stripped off the blouse-top from over her long woolen dress, but left the pants on underneath it. With many small tallow-fires lit to see better by, Sarah could now see that the women’s house was beautifully decorated with animal designs carved into the walls, on stone and ivory implements alike: oxen – yaks, perhaps? – bears, different kinds of birds, wolves, reindeer… whales? Possibly; the style was naturalistic enough to identify the others.

Thoughts of the Dreamstone returned to plague her: she was clearly nowhere near getting the help she needed on _that_ count, solving the riddle of how to get it back before… actually she didn’t know _what_ she was afraid of happening! It wasn’t like the thing had even left Order; the true Jewel had been taken on extended excursions. Maybe everybody was severely overreacting here… but the idea still gnawed at her, like one of the bone knives she was hearing scrape, scrape, scraping away the flesh remnants of some dead creature off to her right, alongside. It _was_ tempting to try to slip the Stone on inconspicuously, to try to communicate clearly with these people, to obtain better information about where she was and what had happened to her, but she refrained for fear of freaking somebody out; where would she be then?!

There was no way of marking the time, but after a while two of the women who had gone out came back in, one of them carrying a gray, furry bundle of something. They carefully approached Sarah and presented it: it was a long, hooded sealskin jacket, with mitten-gloves and a hat besides, all leather! Sarah thanked them in her own tongue, smiling… but it quickly became apparent that she was to don it all and follow them out – now! They even helped her with the unfamiliar bone-toggle fasteners as she pulled on the toasty-fuzzy cap and fat gloves, grabbing her bag, even though they motioned that she could leave it. But Sarah was adamant: she wasn’t leaving the Dreamstone unguarded for one minute!

Properly attired for the climate now, she followed the two women out of the long living quarters, down the thin, dark hallway in the other direction, through a heavy door covered with layers of skins… and out into the freezing-yet-fresh air, brilliant sunlight warming her face, glinting off banks of accumulated snow! Even the outside of the longhouse – which she now realized was partially buried in the ground, as she stepped up and out over a few frozen earthen stairs – was covered in feet of deliberately packed snow for insulation. Out in the open, she spotted several more buildings like the one she had just exited, all formed like spokes in a wheel about an open center area; both women and men were out here, busy at various tasks, once again mostly to do with meat and fish, some rather fresh and bloody on the snow. Bundled as she was now, Sarah barely garnered any attention at all as she was led across the open space and over to a sunken building opposite, walking down the stairs: the door was opened by a muscular man standing there, looking rather official, and she was ushered in alone.   It closed behind her.

The first thing she noticed was just how quiet it was in here, and that there was a distinctly pungent tang to the air, like the remnants of burned medicinal herbs. She warily made her way down the tiny side hall (which was likely also for purposes of insulation, she now realized) and into the long main room…

Which stood completely empty of people, save for the old man seated before the fire pit, facing her.   His long white hair was beaded with carved bone and ivory chips, and many strings of what Sarah took to be fetishes and charms made of bones, claws and teeth were strung about his neck.   His leathers looked softer, made more for comfort than for physical labor.

 _The chief, the medicine-man, maybe both_ , Sarah thought, cautiously approaching him with a nod of recognition; he spoke not a word, but gestured for her to be seated before him on the floor, near the warmth. He stared into her alienly green eyes for a very long time, then slowly reached out his hand in the direction of her forehead, narrowing his own brown eyes; when she felt him trying to ‘read’ her arcanely after his own fashion, she knew that the proper time for the use of the Stone had come.

“Wait,” she said in Thari, removing her gloves, turning aside to open her bag, taking her new hat off, opening the top of the jacket. The old sage’s dark eyes widened as far as they possibly could go as she extracted the shining Dreamstone from her bag, and he made what was unmistakably a warding gesture, beginning to chant under his breath… but the necklace was on in a moment, the dark longhouse suddenly as bright for Sarah as if the place were lit with multiple 60-watt lightbulbs! _Let me speak with him_ , she willed, clutching the object, ignoring the eyeball-stalk lichen which were now watching them from the walls…

“Please don’t be afraid of this – I won’t let it hurt you,” she said after a few more seconds, not certain what language she was speaking. White eyebrows raised in surprise: he’d understood _that_! “If you are this people’s leader, I am grateful to you, and your people, for saving my life. I would have likely died had you not taken me in!”

He was still eying her rather dubiously, like the lichen. “Your gratitude is accepted in the spirit it is offered, but you bear such rare mana-power like a star! Are you one of the lesser Great Powers of the Sky, fallen from your place in the heavens? We sometimes see them in passing in the Growth season, but have heard of them landing but rarely.”

Sarah shook her head, smiling. “I’m just a person like you, I think, just a specially lucky or unlucky one, whichever way you choose to look at it,” she laughed a little self-consciously, unable to resist glancing at those deeply concerned, inhuman stares that only she could see... that probably weren’t there. “Although I _am_ well and truly lost out here! Oh! Did anyone happen to see a silver reindeer in these parts? I sort of wasn’t doing very well at the end there; I don’t remember clearly. How long was I unconscious? Forgive me; I haven’t even asked your name!”

But the old man solemnly shook his head once. “I give my true name to no one, and I will not ask yours also out of respect, but you may call me Grandfather. You slept two whole days; this is your third morning among us. Indeed, your ‘silver reindeer’ was seen – and heard – by many.   He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou is not our friend, yet he is not our enemy. Perhaps it is because we have given those of his totem little reason to trust us,” he gestured to his clothing, the smoked meat hanging from the rafters along with bundles of various drying herbs. “You must not eat their flesh or wear their hides from this time on, for it was he who saved you, who told us of your presence just outside our village: this is taboo for you now. How did you even find us, if I may ask that? Did he show you the way?”

“As far as I can tell…yes!   One minute I was busy freezing to death… someplace else, and he… he _tested_ me first,” she realized, remembering out loud, “to see what I would do – and I must have passed muster because he let me live! I don’t honestly know how far I followed him, but I think he must’ve leant me a bit of strength also, ‘mana’ in your sense of the word; I would’ve never made it otherwise!”

The medicine-man nodded, as if this were perfectly normal conversation. “Then He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou is your friend, and that is rare indeed.”

“Forgive me for interrupting, but why do you keep calling him that? I must confess I am a very long way from anything I am familiar with; your local gods and powers would all be foreign to me.”

The old man sighed.   “Some of the Great Ones are shapeshifters, as is your friend; he most often appears as a caribou, but sometimes he has been witnessed changing into a _man_.”

Sarah’s eyes widened at a sudden, wild possibility; stranger things had happened in Shadow! “Are there accounts of when he has been seen in manform? Does he have black hair, like that of your people, but skin pale like mine? And eyes as green as… as the sheets of light in the night sky?” she searched for a meaningful comparison. “Do you see that phenomena out here?”

The sage slowly nodded, beginning to smile. “He _is_ your friend. You knew not who and what he was when you saw him like this? Such is often the case with Trickster-gods; luckily for you, yours seems generally benign, at worst only uninterested in us. But he must have had a reason to bring you to us!”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking! I…” She looked down at the packed earth floor, pausing, embarrassed. “I need… help,” she awkwardly admitted. “I was told I needed to speak with … him, or someone like him, when he is a man, to ask for advice about something terribly important.” She looked back up at the medicine-man; his expression had changed into one of quiet amusement.   “You wouldn’t happen to know how to go about doing that, would you, Grandfather?” she inquired dubiously.

“I might. But I must ask Raven, for he is _my_ friend; he travels far in this world and the others, and sees much, sometimes even that which is yet-to-come. Rest as you can today, then come back to me after sunset, and we will learn what we may.   Perhaps Raven knows what He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou is up to these days, for he is also Trickster, but of a more talkative, personable sort,” he genuinely smiled, coming to his feet; Sarah took the cue to stand also, the interview obviously concluded… but his eyes had drifted back down to the Dreamstone again. “Am I allowed to ask about _that_? For my own knowledge?”

“It’s probably best that you don’t, although that’s what it’s about, alright. I wish I’d never laid eyes on it myself.”

He nodded in sympathy.   “Even I can tell it makes you weak when you wear it – _don’t_ , not even tonight; leave it behind in the lodge.   If Raven wants to speak to you, he will make himself understood. Do what you can to protect your own mana; it is limited. But that star-stone is surely a thing of the Great Ones,” he added, just before she took it off, properly stashing it away this time, refitting the new hat and gloves.

“Thank you,” she said distinctly in Thari, sure that he understood the meaning anyway from his look of acknowledgement, before she turned and went out again on her own, back to the lodge of women without young children.

No one noted her much again, save at mealtimes; she seemed strangely recovered for the most part (although they continued to feed her generously in comparison to their own portions, just to make sure.) For Sarah the day passed slowly, the lack of outdoor light and burrow-like living conditions putting her in mind of her stint in Chaos yet again, in a vague, lateral fashion; it was simply too strong of an experience to ever truly put aside.   She felt vaguely guilty lounging about here idle when there were clearly communal tasks that needed to be completed.   After about three hours she couldn’t take it anymore, and, screwing up her nerve, approached a middle-aged woman busy at the sewing and signed if there was anything that she could help with.   Before she knew it, Sarah had a pile of freshly-cured leathers on her lap (probably reindeer from the appearance of the pelts, but they weren’t for _her_ ), and she was doing her best not to stab herself as she hand-hemmed a simple, long seam in very tough material for the rest of the afternoon. By dinnertime her right hand was aching, but she was in better spirits and the company seemed a little warmer toward her than previously, even if she still couldn’t understand what they were saying, some of it obviously about her.

Judging nightfall through the chimney, she bundled up again, making a show of leaving her belongings behind so that they knew she meant to come back, better confident now that they would be safe, stepping out into the brutally frigid dusk, partially covering her nose and mouth with her right glove-mitten as she quickly paced across the open area to the shaman’s lodge (for that was what he truly was, not just a chief or a doctor.) She thought of trying to knock on the skin-frame door, but the portal was opened from the inside by a different man, who was also wearing religious fetishes over his heavy outside jacket (though not as many) as well as bearing a spear like a weapon; he ushered her in and her nose was immediately assaulted by the strong sharp-green smell of unfamiliar burned herbs – there was a fair amount of smoke in the air, even in the outer hall! Walking into the main room, she heard a quiet hand-drum being played softly and quickly in the lefthand corner by a third man: thin, unshirted and darkly tattooed, his brown eyes vacant in trance, his hands continuing their movements automatically.   The moment Sarah took her seat by the fire, already feeling a bit lightheaded and drowsy, the first man went back out, closing the door, likely to make sure that they would not be disturbed.  

Something moved in the shadows to her right, and she started with a gasp – she hadn’t even seen the shaman, he had blended into the darkness so well! The old man was also shirtless, wearing a long cloak of black feathers over his buskined trousers and boots, an elaborately carved mask in the shape of a huge bird’s head with a long beak, blackened with ashes, completely covering his face; she couldn’t even see his eyes. Her vision was already starting to waver as he walked toward the fire and tossed another handful of plant materials into it, chanting softly in time to the odd drumbeat, taking a bite of whatever remained in his right hand. The lodge was suddenly _hot_ , the walls fading into darkness spangled with dancing starlight; Sarah could barely keep her eyes open…

And then it happened:   the shaman’s body vanished into blackness, yet not Void, the limbs lengthening as he grew taller and taller, as the blackened sharp-beaked mask and feathers took on the features and form of life! Imperious, inquisitive bird-eyes stared down at Sarah from the height, the half-human shape graced with enormous black wings on its arms!

“Greetings, strange child of Light!” the larger-than-life mythic figure uttered – in English!   “My servant tells me you have a good heart but a confused mind, and I see that it is so. If only he knew,” his chuckle sounded like raven-croaking, “but we’ll not tell him. Your reason for inquiring of me is also good: you wish to know more of the one my people call He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou.   Alas, I can tell you but little of him; the Path that one treads is of his own making. He is one of us, and yet he is not one of us, a foreign power who occasionally makes inroads into our territory, but who does not contest our rule. I have no argument with him, but neither do we commune in mind and spirit. Like me, he is a far-traveler… as are _you_ , for that matter,” the huge figure stooped to examine Sarah a little more closely; the drumbeat was like a long roll of muffled thunder, far in the distance, barely audible. “But you carry not the item!   I am somewhat irritated with my servant for telling you not to wear it in my presence, but I suppose he had no way of knowing whether I would be gravely insulted by a direct rival power in my sacred space. Nevermind:   I sense it _in_ you as I sense it in the Caribou – obviously not at the same level, but the same power, in slightly different iterations. Your is of the Great Horned Mare-Horse, correct?”

Sarah felt herself slowly nodding, blatantly staring!

“Then it is as I suspected, he is Her _son_. Do not wonder at this; our visible forms are more descriptive of our essences than any strictly biological phenomena. But it is _not_ the Caribou you seek – it is his _father_ …”

“His name… is Corwin,” Sarah uttered in slow-motion – but a shadow-dark hand thrust up between them!

“Tell me not his true name!” the figure thundered! “I wish no quarrel with him, for he also is powerful; I know him from mental-impressions alone from the Caribou, and I know that he is far less temperate than his son! Yet you would seek his aid in disposing of the unlooked-for power you are currently burdened with, of returning it to the High Powers in the Dreamtime.” The figure straightened to his full height once more – at least thirty feet! – training his sharp, black eyes upon the night-dark horizon. “I see the Caribou’s father, along with his many false images, far to the west, worlds from this place, perhaps within your reach. You are free to search for him there, yet insight tells me he will not be found until the proper time, when the Lady in Black fails and the world gives way… then will you see his son the Caribou also. Many crave the power you carry, yet in the end you must choose which traitor you will trust, for an element of sacrifice is involved.” The figure looked back down at her. “Beyond this I cannot council you, but to advise you to keep to warmer climes in the future, as much as it is possible in your current life-journey; your meat is not as tough as that of my people,” he croaked a few more times, the sound carrying for miles. “I will allow you one question which pertains, for I feel you need to hear the answer from one such as myself.”

“Can you see… if I make it… if I _live_ , to go home?”

The darkness shook his great feathery head. “That is almost entirely up to you, but this is not a bad thing – it is part of the business you call ‘free-will’ and often consider unnecessarily bothersome without comprehending the full implications of what you would condemn. And what is ‘home’ but where your spirit currently resides? No matter where you are, you _are_ home. Now go with my blessing – and give the Caribou and his father my greetings also, when the time comes…”

Sarah’s eyelids slipped closed heavily as the sky began to spin like a top above her, the drumming growing louder, deeper…

She came to lying on the packed dirt floor of the shaman’s lodge, next to the smoldering, crackling embers of the peat fire; the old medicine-man was crouched at her side, dressed in his normal clothing again, pressing a warm bone cup into her hands, helping her to sit up. It was filled with the same soured milk as before, but it helped to ground her senses… as did the now-clear air. How long had she lain here like that?

Bright daylight conspicuously painted the floor of the outside hallway as the door opened, and the woman from the lodge that Sarah had done sewing for the previous day came in and helped her to her feet, offering a shoulder to steady against as she tiredly staggered back to the other longhouse, lay down on her cot without removing the cozy jacket, and proceeded to sack out for _hours_.

Awakening – far better refreshed this time – to the smell of food, Sarah managed to roll up in time for dinner… and would’ve wished that she’d missed it if she hadn’t been so hungry from missing breakfast and lunch: great slabs of bloody fat were being passed around with obvious excitement and joy, along with the fish she was allotted specially; the preserved meat the rest were consuming like a side-dish had to have been reindeer.   Closing her eyes, forcibly reminding herself it probably had something to do with necessary vitamins, Sarah managed to chew it down, chasing it with bites of frozen fish. Granted it _was_ filling, even nominally warm…

Of course it was difficult for her to fall asleep that night since she’d already slept through most of the day. She just lay there, staring at the little Caribou figurine above her bed, thinking of the peculiar vision, turning its truly scanty contents over in her mind. She didn’t know if these people prayed as such, but it felt sort of nice that there was at least one relatively good-natured being looking out for this community, if not her. And yet…

 _To the west, eh?_ Sarah finally got up and silently pulled the geography tome out of her pack, tiptoeing over to the fire to try and read it quietly by the dim light, having to lean in close to make out the flowing Thari script, checking against the index. Raven admittedly hadn’t given her good odds, and some of his portents sounded positively threatening, but at least he had given her a definite direction to strike out in…

Before she slept again, she had the beginnings of a plan.

* * *

 

Mortals of Earth call him Weland,

But the Phantom Smith of Tir-na Nog’th

Has no name,

Only a profession:

Forger of steel and silver,

Moonlight and blood

And Pattern.

He rides out

 

With his king

And the knights of the Ghost City

From _Amber_

Questing for the first time in

Millennium

Tracking the Dreamstone

By means of its setting

(and the vial of blood the Smith

still carries on his person

\- relic of Oberon –

link of Stone, Jewel and Star)

 

On through the Forest

And the night

Speeding ghosts

Flashby of silver

In the unnaturally bright moonlight

\- like in the Ghost City -

 

Up to the Arden encampment

Straight through the soldiers

To the house of the prince

Bursting through the door

Without opening it

Inquiring of its master without words

Mouthing the demand:

_Where is it?_

 

And his daughter, Sarilda,

Protesting her innocence  
By reason of conscience:

“I kept her _safe_ ,

which is more than any of you

would have done!”

 

A hand raises

To strike an impertinent mouth,

But the king signals ‘Weland’

To stop her father,

Holding back his arm,

The Smith’s strong and dark!

 

_Let her be,_

The king mouths,

(Hated familiarity of face

For the prince,

Doubly so for the Crown of Amber

Upon that pale brow.)

_The Stone has gone,_

_But we must stay_

_Until it is returned_

_And our way home is clear,_

_For we cannot follow it._

 

The prince grudges assurance

Of search parties through Shadow

In the morning

And trumps _his_ liege-

 

A hand he cannot feel

Touches his shoulder

As the contact is made…

* * *

 

The following morning brought dried meat for a change, which Sarah would’ve been hard-pressed to identify by taste (except for the knowledge of what it _couldn’t_ be), along with more dried berries and fermented milk, before she headed out in search of the medicine-man once more… with the Dreamstone secreted away in her left glove-mitten, where she’d wrapped it the night before while everyone was still asleep.

The enormous aquatic carcass that had provided the previous night’s blubber was still being carefully stripped and cleaned outside; no part would be wasted, she was sure. This time she _did_ knock on the door, feeling that she might not be as expected today, but it opened before she could even rap twice! Grandfather himself simply waved her in out of the cold, closing the door after her.   She suddenly wondered whether the old man had always been alone, whether he had family or kin yet living, whether his profession – his ‘calling’ – had forced him into more-or-less solitary existence, save for special occasions. He well-noted that the Dreamstone was in her hands when she took off her gloves; she slipped it over her head once the other wraps were removed.

“Do you live alone, Grandfather?” she asked as he shuffled back to his place by the fire, slowly sitting at the foot of a Dreamstone-invisible stone bench carved to look like books. “I haven’t been in your community long, but hardly anyone seems to come here except for me.” She sat also, at a respectful distance away; the magickal artifact still seemed to make him uneasy.

He gave a small smile at her question. “I am alone yet not alone – which is as it should be. Most of my friends are spirits of the land, but the people take good care of me in spite of my age and infirmity, because of this. You will not see many old men in a community such as ours: food and provisions are allotted chiefly to those who can physically contribute. There is not much leftover for those who cannot, and _they_ try not to burden their families,” he shrugged. “There is only one shaman here, and so I am kept alive.   I have an apprentice, a man now called Tarkik, who will someday change his true name and take my place when I am gone; you saw him last night, for he drummed.” He smiled again. “But I know you do not come to visit me today only out of charity. Did Raven teach you what you needed to learn?”

“As much as he was going to, I think,” she answered, a little unsure of herself. “Don’t _you_ know? You were there, too!”

But the old sage shook his head. “Sometimes he talks to me directly or lets me listen as he speaks through me to others, but I remember nothing of the night you came to inquire of him from the time you entered the room to the time Tarkik awoke me the next morning – it happens, but not often.   Sometimes all he wants of me is a body, a shell to hold himself down into our world, so he may manifest more easily to interact with us. Did you sense the speeding up after the slowing down?”

Sarah nodded quickly, wide-eyed.

“Even at times when he is physically present, Raven has always seemed to be somewhere else to me, where the night runs faster than it does _here_ , that he comes and stands in an open doorway. I cannot explain it, but I wished to reassure you that it was no trick you experienced. I have felt it many times.”

Sarah quietly gasped in realization, looking up toward the ceiling (and more faeries, flitting about the ‘chimney’): it was the uniquely disturbing phenomena of seeing the time-differential between distant shadow-worlds, when it was not cleanly mediated by arcane assistance like the trumps!

“You know it also, from experience?”

Sarah decided that the best course of action was to just keep her mouth shut. Raven was right: the full truth would destroy his old retainer’s mind, expanded as it was.   She only nodded mutely, carefully considering her words. “You’re more right that you know, but the knowledge doesn’t appear to make any difference in your case, and knowing it won’t make you happy,” she quietly added out of pity, unable to look at him: the old man was within slapping distance of the truth, and he would never grasp it.

Grandfather seemed to take this also in the stride; could anything ruffle _his_ feathers, so-to-speak? “Did he help you decide what to do about speaking with He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou?”

“I must seek him to the west – that’s about the only directions I got that might be of any practical use, but it’s _something_ , anyway. I’m afraid I must likely travel by foot to do what I need to. Are there any maps of this land that I could look at, anything of the sort? He is _not_ here, but I must pass through at least some of your country on the way to find him.”

“You _cannot_ travel directly west from here, for you will soon run into a large ocean!” the shaman laughed. “But if you travel _south_ west for a long time, you will find tree-country and freshwater streams with easy fishing; from there you will have to decide for yourself which way to follow. If He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou truly wants you to find him, perhaps he will let you walk his Path. Were you planning on leaving us soon, then?”

“Yes, as soon as I can be ready.” She looked down a bit ruefully at the warm seal-jacket. “I have no way of paying your people for these warm wraps, or the food – I came carrying nothing that would be of any real use to you here!”

But Grandfather waived off her concern. “They are ‘things-given-to-someone-who-has-none’, our gift to one under the protection of He-Who-is-Sometimes-a-Caribou: when the Hunted seeks the aid of the Hunter, strange things are abroad in the world.   We will spare you some dried moose-meat also, a little to last you until you reach the first river.”

Sarah very nearly replied that she probably wouldn’t even _see_ the rivers… then wisely remembered her cautious prudence once more, and simply accepted the proffered generosity, getting back up, starting to take the necklace back off – when Grandfather stopped her with a look.

“I do not know where you came from or where you are going, but I am glad that you were _here_ ,” he made a hand-sign she took for a blessing-gesture, “and that my friend could help you somewhat.”

“For whatever it’s worth, thank you.” She stopped then, thinking. “Grandfather, why is it that oracles are never spoken in plain, understandable language? Some of what Raven told me toward the end I couldn’t comprehend even in my own tongue!”

The medicine-man silently laughed. “Raven’s wisdom is earned.   He teaches us in riddles; that is _his_ path, his way. Besides, future-knowledge is really only good for future-woman, not the woman you are right now. But it can be taken as an assurance, that you _have_ a future.”

Sarah smirked.   “Maybe it’s just a ‘black-bird-creature’ thing. I’ve known a… minor one, who delighted in talking circles around me intellectually!”   And the synchronicity abruptly popped into the foreground in her mind. “Raven, and _her_ ,” she started thinking aloud, “and the centaur, and the black…”

She started breathing a little faster. The thought was stunning. “What does it mean?! All those – black? Almost everything that willingly interacts with me!”

Grandfather frowned in thought. “You speak of power-creatures, not normal animals?”

Sarah nodded rapidly.

“It signifies _change_.”

“… what sort of change?”

“Good change. Bad change. Both. Neither. Sometimes it is only _difference_. But it _is_ change. Transformation.”

Sarah just looked at the old man, not sure of what to say.

“The only reason to fear it would be if you did not care about the outcome; you do, and so you have agency in it. It is your own, and you _own_ it. Make friends with it.”

For a single moment as he said that last little sentence, Sarah thought she saw Raven’s black eyes instead of the shaman’s – but he blinked, and the irises were deep-brown once more. He slowly came to his feet as she donned the jacket and gloves again, finally removing the Dreamstone and stuffing it into her left glove before putting on the hat. He followed her through the now-darkened room back to the door, put on a hooded jacket lined with seal-fur himself, and accompanied her back to the women’s lodge; he would not enter, but she heard him speaking at the door, and a packet of dried meat and berries was prepared for her while she refilled her canteen with clean, fresh ice-melt water. Placing both into her carryall amid smiles and what sounded like mostly kind tones-of-voice, she closed it up and slung it over her now-padded shoulder, bracing herself for the cold, but far better prepared for it now. She felt a tap on her arm: one of the younger women held the small ivory-carved caribou that had been hung over Sarah’s cot in her hands… and was presenting it to her, like ‘go on, take it: gift.’ Sarah nodded reverently, accepting the little naturalistically-carved figurine, carefully sticking it in the inside pouch of the bag where it would be better cushioned from the heavy book and canteen, before heading back outside.

The shaman was still there, waiting for her, as were a handful of the men she had barely seen before:   strong, weathered, hairless complexions that made them look some kind of Asian, counterpart to the mostly softer, rounder faces of the women she had been surrounded by. Walking her out to the edge of the village, Grandfather pointed out the path that she should take, a partly snowy causeway over firm ground, running crazily between the marshy bogs, a couple of which actually had a few ducks in them! If Sarah had to guess, it might’ve been late summer/early autumn here, but it was only a guess; the type of landscape was too unfamiliar. She was ‘told’ to keep the mounting morning sun behind her left shoulder, but that it would set directly in front of her face.

Sarah glanced back at the small, guarded gathering, watching her in turn. This had to have seemed sheer madness to them.

“Thanks for everything,” she said in Thari with a quirk-smile, as Grandfather conveyed her gratitude to the others in their own rolling, many-syllabled tongue. Putting up the hood and pulling the sinew lacing of the neck of the sealskin jacket tight enough to cover her mouth, she started off down and across the half-frozen tundra, finally warm; she inwardly laughed at the thought. The light, freezing breeze was still nipping the tip of her nose, but it was no longer the deadly distraction of her previous trip. Still, she decided to follow the landscape for a while to get the feel for it before trying to shift again, to see what would feel most ‘natural’. The whole world was wide open out here, as far and as much of it as her eyes could possibly take in, the air punishingly bracing but clean, the faint warmth of the daystar to her back, on her raised furry hood. There were even distant herds of yaks and a moose or two, grazing the half-buried grasses. The sound of geese calling signaled an overhead migration south in a very long ‘v’ formation.

She suddenly remembered that there were bears out here, too – possibly even _polar_ ; they were latitudinally high enough – and wolves as well. As picturesque as some of the wildlife was, she logically knew that it would have to be the first thing to go in the shadow-shifting, even before the snow.   Being killed and eaten was too much of an actively ongoing liability!

Pacing through the crunchy, slushy snow at a more determined clip once she was well out of sight of the native village, perhaps three miles away, she concentrated on her fuzzy warmth and the sparse plant life that was growing up in spite of the snow and the temperature, ignoring the muddy bogs on all sides, willing the land to be fuller, more lush, quieter… grass and flowers, grass and flowers… less marsh…goodbye Caribou, new totem animal… sun riding high now, the shifts evolutionarily simple; she broke into a run just for the hell of it… no fauna company now… warmer – oh yes, _warmer_ … pine trees in the distance, rapidly coming closer…

Sarah slowed back down as she entered evergreen forest again, stopping to impulsively hug one of the thick boles: trees meant collective temperature control, shelter, possibly even the presence of forage-food. Taking a fast drink, she picked up her pace in an easy jog along the softer, thickly-needled carpet, the sharp rosin smell invigorating… was it just her, or was the tint of the sky above tending toward lavender again? At least the weather was still holding clear for the time-being, even though there were a few cumulous clouds. Perhaps half-an-hour later, Sarah felt certain that if she had still been on the shadow that those people lived on that she would be treading seawater by now – and carefully readjusted her course to what she hoped was true west.   Now then…

Sarah tried not to think about it, but certain inherent aspects of shadow-shifting were still rather personally troubling to her on a philosophical level, if not a psychological one, to wit, how real could _any_ of this be if she could will it here and gone in the blink of an eye? How could Raven speak of souls as if there were true continuity experienced _anywhere_ in the middle-spectrum of Shadow? In retrospect, she felt certain that the being had sensed her lingering unease about her current state-of-being (among many other things!), but his statement about it cleared up nothing from her point-of-view. She _knew_ where her soul was: Syracuse, New York! That was the whole problem!

She irritatedly shoved the enigma to the back-burner of her mind yet again, and forced herself to focus, to _breathe_. The demon-lady Nayda was likely right that this was possible, but looking for a specific person in this fashion was practiced so seldom…

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to remember what the portrait of the prince had looked like, in that Chaosian shrine which had been his prison: shiny-black hair, roughly shoulder-length (emphasis on the word ‘rough’; he’d probably just let it go at the time the likeness was painted), the shape of his nose and cheekbones, the set of his somewhat handsome jaw, the slight, sardonic twist of his lips, as if mulling over a private joke at the viewer’s expense (though more in a spirit of irony than outright meanness from the rest of the expression), those utterly impossible Arden-green emerald irises, the silver neck-clasp on his black cape cast in the form of the blooming rose…

Holding the image firmly in her mind, she opened her eyes and strode purposefully forward, barely even marking her surroundings now save that it got warm enough that she had to open up her heavy jacket, lowering the hood and removing her hat, as the pines began to vary, finally mixing with larger deciduous trees as the forest thickened in breadth and height, darkening somewhat, the air damp and comfortably cool…

Sarah abruptly stopped:   she could feel someone or some _thing_ staring at her, from behind. She scanned about with her eyes first, not moving a muscle; it was quiet, but not unnaturally so. Slowly turning, gazing upward, she finally spotted a splotch of white with round, yellow-irised eyes, perched up high in a tall oak tree...

 _A snowy owl?_   The thought jolted her a little – but, no, this was _not_ Jareth’s totem form; wrong species. The bird had more likely than not just followed her through Shadow by mistake and wound up someplace strange, poor thing; this latitude was a little low for the creature, but the one she had just come from wasn’t.   Most of the casualties associated with shadow-walking were non-humanoid. She couldn’t entirely shake the strangeness of the incident, though…

Refocusing her energies on her memory of Prince Corwin again, she continued moving, and the primeval forest continued to unfold about her as the sky shaded into a decidedly dusty light-violet: a mist came swirling through as the humidity reached dew point, ground plants brushing against her ankles, her calves, her thighs, with blue-green leaves like cups, collecting the moisture as foreign birds trilled back-and-forth far above in the canopy. The primitive conifers eventually vanished as the land began to gently rise again…

_Emerald eyes, midnight hair..._

The dew was silvery in the warming afternoon, as were the wild roses she didn’t see…

_Smiling at the joke of existence, possibly weary of it..._

Twigs quietly snapped underneath her leather boots, the ground softening with humus…

_With Grayswandir at his side, rapier as legendary as its owner..._

Rays of sunlight unexpectedly cut through the cathedral-like canopy, thinning walls of growing sanctuary…

_A thousand years old if a day, yet only appearing to be forty..._

Thick tiers of fungus were eating away heartwood, leaving moss-covered shells of great trees… thinner, signs of woodcutters – stumps, fresher ground cover…

_His heart for his kingdom, even in exlie..._

An eight-point buck startled her out of her reverie, galloping by! Followed by the sound of a natural hunting horn? People! Sarah barely had time to think, but she made the right decision for a change, digging the Dreamstone out of her mitten, all but throwing the hefty silver chain over her head, willing herself invisible just as the hunt arrived… and then she had to make a mad-dash to get out of the way of the racing cavalcade! The men were of obvious European-type ancestry of some kind: they wore no armor, but rather tight-fitting decorative military uniforms, and the coloring was possibly right – black, black, and even more black, with stylized silver flowers embroidered over their hearts! She heard one of the last ones curse his steed’s slowness as they passed by… and she could understand him without the Stone: they spoke a dialect of Thari! Once she was certain that they were gone, she booked it up the artificially brightened hill, past enormous phantom visions of glittering spider-webs, dead-certain of what couldn’t be even a mile away! Over the hills denuded of trees by man, long grasses and shrubs and stands of wildflowers eating up the destroyed areas, she finally came to the edge… but when she saw what was there, her eyes widened involuntarily: this was _not_ what she had been expecting!  

True, the enormous, sprawling city was walled, but those walls were made of houses with red tile roofs… and apartment buildings?! Still concealed by the Stone, she wandered through the outer decorative wrought-iron gates past the guards and on into town, down quaint cobblestone streets, past surprisingly ‘modern’-looking men and women who could’ve stepped out of early twentieth-century Western Shadow Earth! ‘Dapper’ was the descriptive that most readily came to mind:   top-hats-and-tails of various shades even at this hour of the day, and showy walking gowns with elaborate headgear and parasols to match! Less ostentatious artisans and other workers were about their usual business in shops, with produce carts and flower stalls (to say nothing of the dream-goblins hawking their wares)… Tables from small European-style cafés, bars and restaurants dotted the sidewalks just outside their respective establishments… Further in, there was a brass band playing in the bandstand in a perfectly manicured park, elegant people of all ages enjoying the concert out on the lawn; there were picnics, children playing tag…   About a dozen artists painted down by a stone bridge that ran over a sedate river with swans floating by on it, various styles and subject matter being laid down on their canvasses… Horse-drawn open carriages lazily rolled by along the circular avenue with the sculpture fountain of sea-nymphs, their gaily-attired passengers leisurely taking in the air…

What in the worlds _was_ this place?! Sarah’s heart was aching… but more in the physical sense, to say nothing of how she was melting away in her current wraps in this climate! The former problem (along with the goblins) was undoubtedly the work of the Stone, delivering her a nasty energetic pounding from using it so frequently, which she would partially remedy it in a moment. She took advantage of her invisibility one last time by ducking into a thin alley and stripping down right there save for the necklace, taking off not only her outer wraps but also the woolen dress, putting the sturdy cotton blouse back on, hoisting the rest over the side of her laden, stuffed bag, burying the Stone safely inside it once more, in its sack. If the locals thought she looked like a radical tramp in trousers, that was tough; it was the coolest clothing she currently had!  

Cautiously stepping back out into the foot traffic with all that stuff, Sarah was certainly conspicuous, but the only comment she heard at all was from a thin, balding man who was smoking a pipe over a cup of black coffee at one of the café tables, scribbling in a notebook; he must’ve seen the odd pile walking by first out of his peripheral vision, because he looked up, then asked what production she was in, taking her for an actress! Sarah only shook her head with a smile, continuing on her way, mentally admitting that the idea _could_ make for a good alibi if she needed one…

Taking a much-needed break from walking, crashing on a park bench in a rounded alcove, she ate some of her provisions under a mature chestnut tree; they were planted simply everywhere there was room for one, even in the sidewalks, though she had seen long rows of tall poplars far off in the distance, on a hillside. The Shadow Earth 1900 élan was completely inescapable – there went a dressed-up man and woman on a bicycle built for two! The place was clearly idealized, and yet there was something oddly familiar about it. It was almost like… like…

Paris. Paris?!

 _Oh…_ She had nearly forgotten – actually, truth be told, she had forgotten about it the very moment the word ‘Avalon’ had come out of the prince’s mouth – but Corwin _had_ told her during that crazy car ride through Shadow, that Paris at the turn-of-the-last-century had been one of two places he had been happiest in his entire life, even without his memory!   This world was an Amberite’s dream of Paris… at least parts of the city; the Eiffel Tower was conspicuously absent, as were the cathedrals! The temptation to go pawn her Antarctic coat and go be a tourist for a while here was almost overwhelming, but she brought her excited emotions to rein. Maybe if all went well, she could come back to sight-see someday. Right now, what she was truly about was _far_ more important, as hard as it was becoming to think about. If this was Corwinia, then Corwin – or his Pattern-Ghost – was in charge, and he _would_ agree to see her.

And if it _wasn’t_ … well, she could deal with that, too. But her first order of business had to be finding him: a capitol building seemed an obvious enough place to start her search; even if he had chosen not to be in charge of this world but merely to enjoy it, there had to be some records of his whereabouts.   Following her instinct, she kept asking directions from random strangers – everyone she ran into here seemed casually friendly, sharing in the pervasive good mood of the locality – until she had wound her way around to the very center of the city… to the palace! Possibly based on memories of Versailles and heavily embellished from there, the place practically screamed power and authority with its extreme level of ostentatious display. Approaching Corwin there would likely be every bit as difficult as trying to get in to see the king of Kashfa – or Amber, for that matter! Smartly uniformed guards, armed with both sabers and rifles with bayonets, stopped her at the high gates to the complex, of course.

“Is this supposed to be some kind of a joke, miss?” one of them brusquely put to her with a rather severe frown upon hearing her request: to see the man in charge.

Sarah earnestly shook her head no. “I didn’t think so. Lord Corwin Barimen does _not_ rule this city?”

“Someone has pranked _you_ , miss, if anyone told you that as serious information, for no such person exists here,” another promptly informed her. “You are in Cordelia, not… Cor _winia,_ did you say? And our ‘lord’ is his Grace, the most honorable Duke Cordell Barihieux of the North Country. And the likes of _him_ doesn’t speak to just any wandering nabob who comes along asking after him!”

 _Oh, close enough_ , Sarah resigned herself: nothing could be _this_ easy. Really, the sky should’ve been the clue: the world generated by the true Argent Pattern had archetypal Order coloring to it, like Shadow Earth. _Might as well see how far I can get with this one. _“Are there cases where his Grace would ever grant an audience, without legal proceedings?” she queried cautiously.

“Depends on the reason.   He won’t directly interact with his common subjects unless it cannot be avoided, usually. Or it involves acquiring something that he _desires_ ,” the first guard leered a bit. “What could the likes of you afford to offer his Grace?”

This was all wrong and Sarah knew it! The real Corwin very well might’ve been a snob on his home-turf; the topic had legitimately never come up. He had probably looked down on the lesser beings of Shadow at least whilst growing up in Amber, and likely earlier in his adult life. But to completely abstain from their company, even if only for his own amusement and general entertainment, was too far removed from the man’s true personality. This Cordell would see nothing in her except a rare power-item… which she could all-too-easily imagine him taking from her by force without so much as a ‘by-your-leave’, possibly even killing her to keep the matter quiet; it would be so easy since she was an unknown here! The thought abruptly made her go cold, the sequence too familiar for any surety, let alone comfort!

“I think I _did_ make a mistake; sorry to have bothered you,” she nodded in agreement, apologizing awkwardly, backing away.

“Go on, get out of here!” they shooed her off.

Sarah gratefully fled the painting-like main thoroughfare, taking to the smaller side-streets with the full intention to make good her escape before the strange incident filtered back to the ducal palace, and his Grace! The yeasty smell of fresh-baked bread lured her down another winding lane, however, reminding her that she was still hungry. Checking the few silver coins she had leftover from Eregnor, she observed that they had converted into _sous_ right on cue, and she bought a big, custardy brioche with a couple of them, devouring it as she strode quickly back through the city, spending her last coin on a milky latte with lots of sugar to wash it down. She almost regretted having to leave; the place seemed to naturally engender a kind of peculiar nostalgia, even in a stranger who hadn’t been here half-an-hour!  

That was probably the _danger_ , too: an emotional attachment to the present so strong that it entirely precluded any future…

She made it back through the gates without incident, but wasn’t quite certain which way to strike out in next. _Keep going in the same direction, I guess._ She began tallying the prince’s less general traits; physical description obviously wasn’t sufficient for this. _Cast again and see if I can reel him in_. The experience she had just managed to walk away from unscathed was rather disheartening, but realistically it probably wasn’t a bad first attempt. As she was ambling away along a dirt road that appeared to lead off into the distance, she heard horses again and, turning back, beheld the mounted hunting party she had last seen in the forest, carrying back the fruits of their labor. The duke must have had a taste for venison…

Reflecting further on the true Corwin’s personality as she knew it, Sarah meandered along past vineyards and apple orchards (helping herself to a couple while nobody was looking), following the lines of poplars throughout the afternoon, finally cutting through a field of green wheat that was just now turning golden, to stay true to compass. As nice as it had been, the nearly familiar style of ‘civilization’ had proven to be almost too distracting. She had to force herself to think like an Amberite, not allowing herself to become emotionally attached to her current surroundings, reminding herself of what they truly were: mere phenomena of chance and probability, single specimens of endless iterations of varieties of shadow-existence.

…wheat… to long, seedy grasses… to plain, turning arid…

The sun was directly in her face now; she had to shield her eyes from it with her free hand. The fur and woolen garments riding on her left hip were almost burningly hot through her trousers, but she knew now that she was thinking more clearly again that she shouldn’t abandon any of them too readily. Stopping for another drink and another apple, she noted that the sky was tingeing gradually from lavender to salmon-color now, the sandy ground beneath her feet currently slate-gray, shot through with tough, hardy little sage-green powdery weeds. It wasn’t a particularly worrisome environment for the moment, but if the sky continued in this bizarre fashion she might have to force it blue again soon, at least before the sun went down completely. A little brown lizard darted through the chaparral to an open spot and proceeded to sun itself.

_Hard and cynical from too much life-experience, yet still capable of compassion, occasionally even kindness..._

In fifteen minutes walking, all the plant life gave way to plain rock, like a mesa-top, but the tint of the sky was turning to cooler hues again…

_Feeling the weight of the world at times, yet still in love with the world..._

A canyon appeared at the edge, with a fast-moving creek at the bottom; she followed the ledge until an easy footpath down the side presented itself…

 _A man not above mentioning that he has a taste for chicken-fried dinosaur_, she smiled at the memory.

The floor of the arroyo that the foot trail had wound down to was widening into a parallel track, pacing the white-water creek on the left side. But as the walls of the water-cut canyon began to peel away from the gorge in both directions, revealing their showy mineral streaks and multi-colored sedimentary layers, the creek itself abruptly shaded to _black_ – not from any sort of noticeable pollution or chemical or mineral content. This was blackness of a very different nature altogether…

It was far too familiar to Sarah – and it definitely _felt_ hostile!

 _The Black Road!_   She thought in alarm, dashing away from it to the left as fast as her burning leg muscles would carry her!   She must’ve accidentally ventured too close to the Dancing Mountains and the Dreamstone’s presence had been arcanely noted by someone! She risked a glance back… in time to see about twenty of those gray-skinned, hairless, elongated barracuda-men rising from the occulted waterway, their black-and-red uniforms sticking wetly to their strong, skinny bodies! And they were armed with fish-hook spears! As one, the unit came dashing after her like bloodhounds, dead-silent, their long strides rapidly closing the distance between!   If only there were somewhere she could hide, could shift away to quickly, to provide some kind of barrier!   As it was, she had been forced out into the open in an environment that superficially resembled Shadow Earth’s Death Valley – or Mars, for the coloring – and she was already too far spent to be able to keep up this pace for much longer without dropping in her traces!

But she had a hunch, a vague feeling – desperate hope, more like – that if she voluntarily surrendered, they might, _might_ spare her life; anything beyond that would have to be bargained for dearly, but the situation probably wasn’t as terrifying to her as it would’ve been to any Order-based shadow-person with no prior knowledge of how Chaosian society worked! More often than not (unless there was a predetermined ulterior motive and/or stealth operations in progress), you were only treated like an enemy if you _presented_ yourself as one… usually. Depending on the creatures. And the average proximity of the Abyss; one’s chances of coming out of an encounter alive, let alone in one piece, admittedly took a severe nosedive the further from the Courts one was! But she felt slight confidence in the fact that at least this shadow-breed was nominally familiar to her: in fact, she had had the rare opportunity to observe some of them on their best behavior in a home-setting with their young. Intimidating? Yes, beyond any doubt. But monsters? No, not by a longshot.  

Her legs were starting to shake from the exertion; she was going to have to stop, which was probably just as well because they were about to close in on her and she did not relish the idea of being tackled en masse like that, not to even mention what might come next! She was panting so hard she could scarcely breathe: this was _it_. Making a deliberate show of raising her hands and placing them behind her head, she steadily slowed down, jogging to a halt, her heart pounding in her chest, in her throat, in her ears, her face flushed hot as they circled her closely like the predacious pack that they were. Sarah momentarily thought of going for the Stone to try and use it, but quickly thought better of it; she was hemmed in too closely – there was no reason to show them where it was!

“May I at least know whose captive I am to be?” she tried cautiously in clear Chaosian Thari.

The barracuda guards gave no reply at first except for a couple of rather rude snickers, followed by some mumbly words in their own tongue.

 _That's right - they don't speak Thari, either,_ she remembered, finally beginning to panic a little, wishing that collection of nasty-looking hook-spears wasn't  _quite_ so close to her skin!  But the fact that (for better or worse) she was still here and intact and not stabbed or whisked away said something...

One of them in front finally addressed her emphatically and distinctly in his own language, staring straight into her eyes with his own terribly bloodshot ones, as if she should be able to understand him... but of course she couldn't; the very tip of his wickedly curved dagger-type blade slowly approached the hollow of her throat, bringing on a powerful wave of karmic deja-vu- 

“Stand down, all of you!” a familiar male voice barked an order at them from somewhere above in the air; even though it sounded like a foreign tongue, Sarah could understand it!   “I want her alive and unharmed!”

As one, the alien soldiers all simultaneously took four long strides backwards with their naked heads bowed reverently, forming a large circle about her as a freezing whirlwind descended from the sky right in front of her! The rotation gradually slowed enough that she could see facial features in the center, where the head should’ve been!

“Mandor?!”

The disembodied mouth smirked lopsidedly at her as her former guardian finished the shift down into his humanoid form, bits of frost melting away here and there!

And then an utterly crazy realization unexpectedly popped in Sarah’s mind like a bubble: his face looked ever-so-slightly _different_ , and not just from age, mind you. It was the placement, the precise shape of his features, the actual width between his eyes, the length of his nose, the curve of his chin: it wasn’t the same as when she had seen him last… and that last time he’d been different, too, but she hadn’t thought to notice, she’d been so distracted by that outrageous costume he’d been forced to wear!

And every time before that…

He was only approximating his humanoid form! Mandor Sawall’s mandarin-collared black ‘vinyl’ travel jacket was produced more uniformly than _he_ was!

“Hello, Sarah,” he sighed quietly. “I _did_ warn you of what would happen should you actively choose to enter the contest of the powers again. You shouldn’t be as shocked as you seem to be to see me,” he calmly lectured her.

“How the hell did you even _find_ me?!” she physically sagged, wide-eyed! “You don’t even have a tracking spell on me anymore!”

The former Chaos lord tisked disapprovingly, shaking his head. “Such language; you must’ve picked it up in Amber; _we_ certainly didn’t teach you the curse-debasement of that particular word.   At any rate, your initial observation is technically correct… but only up to a certain point,” he smiled again, unzipping his long jacket partway, reaching into his breast pocket, producing something tubular and very thin that seemed to twitch hard even in his firm-handed grasp…

Sarah recognized it at once: it was her bespelled pen!   But that meant… “You raided my _apartment_?! How _dare_ you-”

But he put up a hand to silence her incensed tirade.

“I can explain everything, Sarah; save your ire. Are you aware that ghosts from Tir-na Nog’th have been wandering down into Amber-proper, both the Castle and the City, every night for the past ten days local-time there?   No matter – I see from your reaction that this is news to you, which is as I suspected. As enmeshed as you currently are in this proverbial web, it must be difficult to comprehend what is going on all around you,” he added with a sympathetic note.

“And I gather that you’re about to enlighten me,” Sarah laconically replied, crossing her arms, wishing that they weren’t being forced to play this stupid game. Lord Suhuy must’ve just moved his ‘bishop’…

“Lose the surly attitude, Sarah,” Mandor answered her levelly, “it isn’t befitting a grown woman.   The chief reason I decided to check in on you was because when anything truly strange happens in Amber, his majesty King Random automatically suspects his blood relations have a hand in it somehow, which I must confess still strikes me as more than just a little paranoid when the man has worked to acquire so many other enemies in his earlier private life. I imagine it’s a certain type of psychological damage control, to believe one can easily keep one’s thumb on most potential culprits. My wife, of course, received a rather rude and forwardly accusatory trump-call from him in which she was naturally assumed guilty until proven innocent – and only then when she performed a rite with me maintaining the live contact for her, proving beyond a doubt that neither of our magickal ‘fingerprints’ matched those uncovered at the scene of the crime, and that she was willing to grant her considerable talents to aid in the multi-shadow hew-and-cry. Such Patternish, horizontal-world thinking,” he gave a quick little lip-smile. “She _did_ manage to figure out what was actually going on for him, with the theft of the… artifact, but not who had done it or why. Once we were alone again, we had a long heart-to-heart about potential suspects, though, and the names that we bandied about were all so dangerous that I began to have serious misgivings about her going on this particular expedition at all, even if it meant directly disobeying the king of Amber.   Do not mistake me: I am aware that my Princess is a highly accomplished sorceress in the Pattern as well as in animus magick, but there are certain routes to greater power that she has eschewed essaying, considering what happened to her brother when _he_ tried it.”

He didn’t have to explain; Sarah knew: Brand, poor maddened Brand, who became convinced he could become God.

“I believe Fiona is right in her choice to remain where she is in her art,” the former lord of Sawall continued, “its mistress and not the other way around. But lack of such knowledge, despite any rationale involved in its copious absence, is a potentially fatal liability when dealing with an opponent who so clearly has less scruples about such things. I myself have not followed the darkest passages, either, but unlike her I have studied their shapes, and I feel sufficiently acquainted with them to be capable of anticipating and deflecting dirtier powers than we normally employ. And I have promised her younger half-brother Prince Julian that I would do whatever was in my power to keep her safely out of harm’s way, if you would care to recall,” he frowningly smirked at Sarah. “In the end I managed to convince her to let me go in her stead.   The fact that the artifact had been spotted by a few Family members over the course of several thousand years and yet apparently could not be physically touched, even by an item inscribed with the Pattern such as Brand’s sword Werewindle – yes, they tried it back-in-the-day, during ‘the troubles’ – immediately made me think that a different kind of agent _had_ to be involved somehow, if even involuntarily.”  

He paused, studying her.   “You are simply too unique for your own good, Sarah,” he ruefully half-smiled. “At the very least, I decided to satisfy my own curiosity on my way out, as it were, by confirming that you still were where you should be… except that you _weren’t_. Don’t worry, I left your ‘double’ alone,” he swallowed a laugh, “a harmless enough trick in itself effectually, as far as you’re concerned; don’t lose sleep over it.   But her presence still confirmed my worst fears: that the rogue agent _is_ Chaosian in origin, and potentially very powerful, to have pulled off both of those stunts and in such a relatively short period of time, not to mention eluding Prince Julian – no small feat in itself; the man’s the best non-arcane tracker this side of the Divide. And, lo and behold, your ‘double’, out of concern for you, indeed for herself, gave me a surprisingly reliable way of seeing where you’d gotten off to,” he brought the squirming pen up to eye-level in amusement; a short verbal command stilled it. “Write well of me, when it is time,” he whispered to it teasingly, putting it back away in his pocket… probably next to his trump pouch. “ _That_ wasn’t as easy as it might seem, either: the backlog of information stored in that lowly vessel of recording is simply not to be believed. It took a considerable effort of labor to force the item to run in reverse, starting with the most recent information rather than where it truly left off approximately four years back local-time on Shadow Earth. Which means that there is still considerable knowledge to be gleaned from you here, especially before going forward with what I had in mind to rectify the situation.”

Sarah had all-but relaxed back into her old mindset concerning her former guardian, almost relieved to have been intercepted by the ‘good guys’ (albeit in barracuda-man skins… and teeth! _Jeez_ , those things were ugly!) But that last statement, harmless as it had been, was enough to instinctually raise her hackles at this point – or at least her suspicion.

“Would you care to elaborate on that?” she tried prompting him. “I mean, I’m assuming that this is a rather logical foregone conclusion with you nominally working in Amber’s favor, but I’d just like to hear you say it out loud. I’m sort of getting sick of being lied to – not that I’m accusing you or anything. It’s just how my life has been going lately.”

“I’m so terribly sorry to hear that; you _have_ had a rough time of it this round, haven’t you?” he empathized. “It _was_ coercion, then. I’m just trying to fix this, Sarah, really I am, but in order to do that I’m going to need your cooperation-”

“You aren’t answering my question,” she calmly interrupted him.

Mandor actually hesitated.   “The Dreamstone cannot be returned to Tir-na Nog’th, or, indeed, to any of Amber’s environs, until further notice.”

“May I ask _why_?” Sarah eyed him dubiously.

He gave a slightly irritated little huff, crossing his arms. “Because that is precisely what our enemy is counting on. They are lying in wait like a trapdoor spider in whatever collapsing pocket-universe they’re currently holed up in, for this exact thing to occur so that they can intercept it once more. It would be in far safer hands with his Excellency.”

Sarah suddenly went ice-cold; she took a step back from him, then another. “You mean to deliver it to _Chaos_!” she whispered. “You mean to turn traitor! Have you lost your mind recently?! That signals _Armageddon_!”

“Only with the true Jewel, the real Eye,” Mandor reassuringly replied. “Lord Suhuy believes that the Dreamstone, while still only a shadow-reflection, is more akin to a third-eye,” he placed one finger to his forehead between the white seagull wings of his brows. “Merlin has attunement to the Left Eye of the Serpent; he could wield the Dreamstone with ease, effecting our mutually desired outcome here.”

“But even _he_ can’t hold the chain to put it on! This stupid thing’s like Excalibur!” Sarah blurted before realizing what she was saying – and the next instant clammed up, mouth covered, eyes wide!

An unsettling light had dawned in Mandor’s pale-blue eyes. “Of course… but you _can_! Why?”

Sarah shook her head, too frightened to say anything else!

“I think you do know,” he continued in a reproving tone, frowning thoughtfully. “I think that whether or not you realize it consciously, you hold the key to who’s _really_ behind this… why do you tremble, Earth-child?   I’m not going to harm you; I am trying to help you!” he laughed a little.

“By helping yourself to the power! Just like _she_ did!”

“Oh, for all the – Sarah, if _that’s_ all our enemy wanted, you would be brainwashed, under a heavy slave-spell, or dead by now! There’s something vital that I can’t see here, and I can’t even read _you_ at present because you’re carrying the blessed thing! You _have_ to trust me, Sarah – too much is at stake here!”

 _For who?!_ Sarah suddenly thought incredulously: he was too worked up to only be upset about what they had just been discussing, she knew him far too well! Mandor Sawall simply didn’t _do_ outbursts like this over anything.  

But it _might_ mean…

“You can’t legally cross the Dancing Mountains, however that’s arcanely enforced in the Courts,” she floated the weather-balloon of an idea cautiously. “You have no direct way of contacting the king yourself. Or do you? Is he even aware of this little plan of yours? Is the Princess? Is Lord Suhuy in on it? How would you propose to even approach Chaos with your prize?”

“The Way would stand open,” he answered confidently.

“And I suppose there’s some monster of a reward for handing this thing in? Like, say for instance… a _dukedom_?”

“Well, there _is_ an age-old standing finder’s fee for the return of the Missing Eye of the Serpent – of course, no one would ever live to collect it,” he mused. “Despil could keep our old man’s Ways; the place never really suited me anyway, and he deserves it for being a good boy. For what it’s worth, I can’t imagine Merlin voluntarily keeping the Stone; he’d hand it straight off to his Uncle Random the moment the danger is past, with the full Council roaring sedition in his ears and down his neck, readying their blades and assassination curses.”

 _Voluntarily_.   Sarah just shook her head, lips pressed into a line. “I appreciate your honesty here – believe me, I do – but you have to realize that I can’t possibly buy what you’re trying to sell me. And I still think he couldn’t use it; on top of everything else, you’d be wasting time!”

“Ah, yes, we never did get around to answering that question, did we? There has to be some trick to it, of course. Care to confide in your old guardian?”

“Not particularly.”

“Are you certain you won’t change your mind? We could discuss it in more comfortable surroundings over hot chocolate.”

She had to smile at that particular psychological tack. “Nope.   Sorry.”

“So am I, Sarah.”

It was then and only then that Sarah realized that he had added that second-to-last little comment as a deliberate distraction to keep her from noticing his right hand smoothly sliding into the lower right-hand pocket of his jacket… for his spheres!   Only a split-second passed between the time that she became aware of this and when one of them was clicked on-

And she found herself incapable of voluntary physical movement beyond breathing! Her eyes automatically flicked to his, panicked, furious!

His own singular, ice-blue eyes were perfectly calm, serene even, and she found that she couldn’t look away…

“Please consciously note for posterity’s sake before we begin that I gave you ample opportunity to cooperate with me of your own freewill. You leave me with no choice but to obtain what I need this way.” He presented the silvery metal sphere before her; it commenced making a little clockwise orbit around her torso. “Seat yourself however you would be most comfortable here physically, and be at your complete ease,” he bid her.

Sarah found that her body obeyed him! She sat down loosely cross-legged upon the desert floor, her bag and accoutrements resting to her side, as a curious peacefulness settled over her…

“That’s right,” he added smoothly, crouching on his heels in front of her, “just _relax_ – it does feel nice after all that tension and exertion, doesn’t it? Now,” his low voice turned serious, “I am going to ask you a series of relatively simple, straightforward questions, and you will verbally answer them truthfully. Do you understand, Sarah?”

“Yes,” Sarah heard her own voice reply quietly, as if she were dreaming, yet she was not troubled by the strangeness; it was _sweet_ somehow…

Mandor graced her with one of his most winning P.R. smiles. She smiled back at him languidly.

It was too easy.

“Firstly, would you prefer I ask the questions in Thari or in English?”

“In English, please.”

Carefully keeping his commentary to himself, he readied a second sphere as a translation device without looking away.

“Very well,” he continued in American English. “Are you hungry or thirsty at all at the moment, Sarah? Have you been locating adequate nutritional sources to sustain your bodily health out here in these foreign shadows?”

“I ate not too long ago, and although I slightly thirst at the moment, there is still water in my canteen. I have mostly been capable of providing for my needs in order to survive.”

“It pleases me to hear that you are still benefiting from at least some of your training. You may do what is necessary to quench your thirst.”

Arms that were attached to her body smoothly, gently shoved the wraps aside and extracted the canteen from her carryall, carefully removed the cork, and poured some of its contents down her easily receiving throat before putting it away again!

“Now then, I want you to think back to the day that you were brought back to Amber, Sarah,” Mandor gently probed. “Behold it as it was, as it happened. Think of the one who coerced you into going. Describe them to me as you experienced them on that day.”

“They overlap – the images blur together.”

“Then treat with them one at a time, in chronological order.”

“It was a female, over seven feet tall, sized to scale, naked, translucent-blue, with eyes of cobalt fire, beautiful and terrible – she almost blinded me at first, but I begged her not to shine so brightly, and then she glowed. I both feared and loved her at first. But I feared her more.”

“And how is your physical sight functioning now? Did you sustain any damage?”

“It was strained at first, but my vision has been fine for some time now.”

“ _Good_ ,” he reassuringly crooned. “Continue recounting her, please.”

“She… changed, after we were in Amber, before I retrieved the Dreamstone: still tall, but on a human scale, just under six feet: long white hair, white skin, white dress, dark green cloak, still impossibly beautiful. Her eyes were always cobalt blue, always… I feared her less then, until… she changed again, in the Arden Forest: first she vanished, then she was a towering flame of violet, then an enormous black ram with her cobalt eyes burning – it was terrifying! Blood and gore everywhere! The _hellhounds_! Do not ask me to see more of that, I beg of you! I thought I was going to die of fright!”

“ _Peace_ , Sarah – you are only remembering; you are _here_. It is over,” he uttered steadily, and she calmed down once more, breathing a genuine sigh of relief. “Think back to when you were still in your apartment with her earlier that day, but do not see it. You say you felt both love and fear toward her. Did you sense her using her powers on you then?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel suspicion toward her at any time at that point?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I… I do not know!   Have mercy, I do not know!”

“I withdraw the question,” he continued calmly. “Was it an instinctual response, then?”

“Yes, but… there… there was something else that I couldn’t work out at the time, something that felt important, and I could only stall her for so long…”

“Go on.”

“It was something that she said; I knew it as soon as I heard it, but I didn’t understand why!   I still don’t!”

“Tell me in her exact words what it was; perhaps I will recognize it myself.”

“I will absorb the renegade power and establish a tenth incarnation of My Pattern there,” Sarah flawlessly recited in a strange-sounding tone-of-voice, “perfecting six shadow-copies not in Amber. All will be wiped clean. If Corwin has been rash enough to build there, his city must be destroyed, and those within that populate it, if he will not surrender them to the Change.”

Upon hearing this, Mandor paused for a moment, thinking, before continuing on.

“Think of Tir-na Nog’th, when you were there. Behold it now. Did you see anything that interested you, that seemed strange to you, while you were in the Ghost City?”

“You were the king.   And Dworkin Barimen was there in the flesh, guarding the stairs against my retreat.”

Mandor’s eyes widened a little involuntarily.

“You saw a phantom of _me_ as the king?” he repeated incredulously, doing his best to control his voice.

“Yes.”

“Where was Random Barimen?”

“Further down the table, with Fiona.”

The portent was so portentous, the omen so ominous, he didn’t even have the time to contemplate the full possible implications at present!

“Did Dworkin Barimen say anything to you?”

“To be careful of how I played this round of the game. To not trust that all was as I thought it was. To hurry before the stairs were broken up by the sunlight…”

Her breathing had quickened, lost in the memory as if it were a stress-dream.

“It is over.   Return to the here and now, Sarah.”

Her eyes cleared and refocused upon his as she did so.

“Two final questions.   Why is it that you can wield the Dreamstone when even a Prince of Amber cannot?”

“Because that of the Ghost City is closer to Shadow than to Substance. The Stone passes through Substance like ether. Yet one must be marked by the Pattern to wield its power.”

Mandor regarded her very carefully, suddenly aware of just how delicate the situation really was. Of why she might still be alive. “Is there anything that I could say or do, short of post-hypnotic suggestion, which would induce you to hand over the Dreamstone of your own freewill into my keeping, even temporarily?”

“I would only give you the Dreamstone if you would first agree to help me to return it to the king of Tir-na Nog’th immediately, to whom it rightly belongs.”

“I see,” he smiled quietly.   Reaching out toward her, the orbiting sphere flew into his hand. “Please consciously remember for posterity’s sake that I only probed your memories and opinions, not influenced them in any way, including your memory of this session, and apart from these disclaimers, which you _will_ continue to remember clearly no matter what, I have used no direct suggestion to influence you whatsoever at this time, save what was necessary to obtain the information and to keep you calm in the interim. I free you of my power, Sarah.”

He clicked both spheres back off simultaneously, pocketing them.

Sarah gasped, wide-eyed, and frantically scooted away from him, feeling strangely violated! The barracuda men laughed at her rather obvious, visceral reaction, holding formation.

Mandor simply stayed where he was, sitting on his heels, calmly observing the after-effects of his work.   “You brought that upon yourself, Earth-child,” he casually scolded her, resuming his natural Thari. “I hadn’t wanted it to come to that, but we don’t have all the time in the worlds, as you pointed out, and you were being intractably obstinate.”

“You could’ve just _taken_ it! Or me, for that matter!” she laughed a little recklessly. “What in the worlds _stopped_ you?!”

Mandor slowly rose to his feet, momentarily stretching his arms, his shoulders. “As gauche as this is to say aloud, honesty is the currency that you value, and so I will candidly tell you that in spite of your training and experience with the power of Disorder, I could easily snap you – physically, mentally and spiritually – like a dried _twig_ … but it is not my desire to do so. I would much rather that you _bend_ instead, of your own freewill, and so continue to grow and to thrive.” He crookedly smirked. “That, and the fact that his Excellency would never even consider going along with this if he discovered that you had been subconsciously directed to come with me today.”

“ _What_? Whoa, whoa, whoa, back it up there: going with you _where_?”

“To Chaos, of course – I am only saving your _life_ ; you’re welcome. I had my suspicions, but I know with certainty who our enemy is now, and I will openly state that it is a very good thing that I intercepted you in time.”

“…is it anybody I would know?”

He studied her as she warily came to her feet, still watching him like he was an animal that could attack her at any moment. “I want to see if you can work this out logically for yourself, Sarah; in many respects you’ve already beaten the curve just to be here – I _am_ impressed.   Any number of operatives from both sides want to dismantle to Argent Pattern, but this one it would seem had a very particular bone to pick with the prince. What it was that you heard but could not place was most likely a restatement of a rather trite piece of Chaosian propaganda that dates back to the War, that you must’ve run across in one of your textbooks: ‘Amber must be destroyed, to make way for a New Order.’”   He observed the proverbial lightbulb go off over Sarah’s head; she nodded quickly, her fear almost forgotten:   he had her attention now! “What most struck me in your recounting of the incident was not so much the content of what the lady said, but the _passion_ with which she said it: _that_ was real; she made no efforts to hide it from you. There are many in Chaos who have reason to hate Prince Corwin and his renegade creation, but only one who has loved him enough to do so.”

“… Lady Dara Sawall?!”

“Very good,” he praised her. “There was a reason I hadn’t wanted you anywhere near the Ways of Sawall; you wouldn’t believe what I was forced to do to induce her to leave the compound during your brief visit with us.   And for all my careful planning you still managed to find your way into her business. I had worked out that she had to have hidden that small dungeon-cell in the art gallery from your brief account and the few places you could’ve been there, but by the time I returned to Chaos after the trial and deliberately set about searching for it, she had moved it of course. Just out of academic curiosity, what did it look like?”

“An abandoned shrine,” Sarah answered cautiously.

Obviously not cautiously enough: Mandor’s eyes flew open wide at the words, as if he knew exactly what she was talking about! Had he seen the place himself?!

“She _did_ love him, then! I had wondered of it when word initially filtered back to us of the studding of Merlin – of a new king of Amber of our own choosing, who we could influence – but the lady had simply brushed off any hint of emotional attachment to the sperm donor. This vendetta of hers runs deeper than even I suspected, if she loved him enough to hate him this much!”

“So, what I’m hearing from you is ‘don’t visit the Argent Pattern’; I get that. There are an awful lot of nice places we can go visit instead to not do that,” Sarah tried to wheedle.

“You still don’t see the full picture, Sarah. My stepmother never knew of the prince’s _original_ escaping from that cell: she thinks that somehow _you_ are personally responsible for that. Think. Why are you still alive, Sarah?   Why did she arm you as she did and turn you loose on him? What would the First Order do to the Second?”

“I’m presuming destroy it somehow… and possibly me with it…”

He nodded. “Keep working.”

“Is the effect anything like electromagnetic polarity?”

“You’re right on the cusp, Sarah…”

It felt just like the old days, when he had been her mentor, her friend. She stifled the sudden welling up of emotion, trying to process…   “It _is_! They’re like the same sides of a magnet!” And then it hit her: she gasped, covering her mouth, horrified.

Mandor grimly nodded.   “The presence of the Stone would literally shove Corwinia off its physical planes and clean out of existence, blurring it, marring the city and its Pattern, and consequently any Shadow-worlds it has produced, beyond any hope of repair. But would this automatically give rise to Order, even in the presence its harbinger?”

“No! That has to be _willed_ to exist; it doesn’t just happen!”

“Let us follow this then to its logical conclusion,” he continued to lecture calmly, as if she were back in ‘class’. “What power _is_ physically closest to that place, that would immediately rush in to fill a sudden propitious void like that?”

Sarah shivered. “The Fixed Logrus – the Labyrinth!”

“Therefore,” he goaded her, making a rotating gesture with his wrist, like ‘come on, you can do it...’

“The balance would be drastically thrown off again… in Chaos’ favor!”

“Excellent! I knew you could solve this, provided sufficient information; for a native of Order you were a surprisingly apt pupil. But you must now concede the physical danger you are presently in, that it is in your best interests to place yourself under my protection once more,” he held out his left hand toward her expectantly.   “It is time for us to depart.”

For as badly as Sarah’s mind was scrambling to come up with a plan, a method of escape, the glinting silver upon his pale thumb temporarily distracted her: it was a ring in the shape of a delicately rendered snake in the process of swallowing its own tail: an ouroboros serpent!

“Is that your wedding ring?” she suddenly asked out of genuine curiosity, not even as an attempt to stall.

Mandor glanced down at it, then chuckled quietly. She hadn’t changed at all.

“Not in the manner that you would think of it; the tradition does not exist in the Courts, and it is only sparsely practiced in Amber… although in a sense you could think of it thus, for it was the princess’ idea. We each wear one constantly, energetically linking us together; should anything inopportune befall one party, the other knows of it instantly, and can be there quickly if need be. They are not unlike the ring I once gifted you with in that regard,” he gave answer patiently, still awaiting the clasp of her hand.

Sarah took a very long sidling step away from him, then another. She knew that in the absence of true physical danger she could not count on the Dreamstone to save her, and she likely only had seconds at best before he would strike with a subduing spell. A sketchy, desperate plan began to form in the back of her mind, something he wouldn’t expect…

“Sarah, do not try my patience,” he uttered warningly. “I am under no obligation to be hospitable to an enemy combatant – which is what you will technically become, should you be foolish enough to strike at me in any manner at all – and I cannot guarantee that I would be able to stop my guard in time, should they believe my person to be in danger.” His physical form was wavering, beginning to shift uncertainly.

She had to _fake_ ; that was the dangerous part. She had to draw his claws before-

A refreshingly cool, soothing wind caressed her all over – she nearly wept from the sweetness!

Mandor stood with his arms opened to embrace her. “Come here, Sarah. Everything is going to get better again; I promise.”

She took a single small step forward, her will faltering momentarily – then resisted, hard, remembering herself, what she had to do!

The wondrous sensation instantly morphed into a coddlingly warm, blanket-like, strength-sapping fatigue!   “Then stand where you are, stubborn girl,” he added flatly, lowering his arms. “You may sleep on the way home.”

Sarah was struggling hard to keep her eyes open – it _couldn’t_ end this way! Mentally reaching out to the Stone with a painful slowness, she finally felt the contact… and rather than tiredness, she felt fully alert mentally, albeit as if in dreamstate, yet thinking clearly again! But she couldn’t let onto the change; she had to draw him in, using her own body for bait! She carefully allowed her eyes to unfocus and fall closed, letting her head and shoulders droop, even sagging to buckle her knees as much as she could and remain upright for good measure, all the while buttressing her consciousness, her stamina, with the Stone, pulling more power…

“ _Yes_ , that’s it,” Mandor was intoning, “just release the tension, the anxiety, the fear.   Cease to struggle. We’re not really opponents, Earth-child, except on the fencing strip. I will never harm you; you are my charge to care for.” He began to pace toward her, trying to anticipate when she would drop, when he would have to catch her to keep her from falling.

He would kill her with kindness yet; it was all Sarah could do not to cry, hearing him say those words.   From his own worldview it might’ve even been the truth. But he wasn’t close enough – yet. _Come on, just another step…_

“When you awaken, you will not consciously remember any of this confrontation,” he was adding carefully, “merely that you collapsed in exhau-”

A whirlwind of forces catapulted them both into the air in a sheer vertical leap of a hundred feet, trapping Mandor in the Pattern-antithesis of a Diamond Bubble, one of his own spells of containment he’d had primed on his person! The wind tunnel held Sarah aloft directly above him, safely out of range of the fish-hooked spears that were thrust in her direction, accompanied by what was doubtless a thorough volley of cursing! Gone was the gentle, caring Chaosian she had nearly committed cosmic treason for: Mandor Sawall was shifting forms in lightning-fast progression in there, trying everything at his disposal to break free, his magic obviously failing him!   Huge disembodied eyes of green fire blazed up at Sarah in open, demonic fury!

“ _Jeez_ , calm down in there!” she shouted to him. “It’s not like I’m leaving you to die! There’s a trick to it, of course,” she echoed his earlier speech mockingly.   “Think on my lessons, what you yourself taught me! And if you can’t figure it out, the princess will be along to save you by-and-by!”   She looked up and saw her old white skyboard coming for her as she had desired; when it arrived, she carefully mounted it, securing the foot straps. And looked down once more…

And had to wrench her eyes away! His eyes were _mesmerizing_! She momentarily closed hers, ignoring the continuing commotion down below.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this between us – all of it, the whole damn mess. I wish we weren’t opposing playing pieces on some demigod’s chess board,” she added quietly, bitterly, certain he could at least read her lips, “but from your own chosen course of action here, I guess that’s just _my_ personal hang-up. I still can’t hurt _you_.”

She heard him scream her name then, muffled by the barrier, but she quickly soared away before she could hear any more and lose her nerve…


	8. Not the Big Apple

_Author’s Note: This is where I have to give kudos to one of my uncles who used to live in the real Greenwich Village during the correct time-period for this story, and who graciously helped me quickly cobble together the historical ‘color’ research for this chapter. You know who you are – thanks ;)_

* * *

 

_(Tori Amos, Scarlet’s Walk: ‘I Can’t See New York’)_

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Chapter 7 – Not the Big Apple

_There's no place like home, there's no place like home..._

Screaming along through Shadow at breakneck pace on a hoverboard with your eyes closed so you can’t even see where you’re going would be enough to scare the pants off just about anyone.

Sarah Williams knew it was far scarier to do with your eyes open – and it was a heck of a lot more distracting if you were trying to mentally visualize where you were going! It had been a real Hail Mary of a thing to try for, but it felt like a small miracle that she had managed to get this crazy contraption back, or at least an operable analogue of it that would work in this sector of the shadow-spectrum!

And she also knew now – what she should’ve realized from the start – that the only person she could possibly trust to give her reliable advice and not try and double-cross her in a bid for the Dreamstone and its dubious power, was herself… or, rather, a very street-savvy, world-wise, more logical and rational version of herself from just a few shadows away from Shadow Earth, closer to Amber: Shara Wilkins, a girl who had had the gumption to willingly take Sarah’s place for a couple of months when Mandor Sawall recruited her for the last escapade. Which meant that Sarah had to take a small risk in going back to her own apartment to fetch the Ghostwheel’s notes on how to get to Shara’s last known address in New Yark – that’s right, _Yark_ , not York, a shadowworld close enough to her own that even the names of people and places would be somewhat similar after a fashion. If Shara was any indicator, however, that was about the extent of it; the shadow-people who were Earth’s counterparts there (or was it the other way around, given both places nominal proximity to Amber?) were far-removed both in personality and life-circumstances from their cosmic cousins further along the line.

 _But not so much that my Earth seemed strange to her_ , Sarah mused as she soared away from her ensorcelled former tutor and his dangerous retinue, hoping against hope that it would make it harder for them to tail her this way, that no one would think she could be so stupid as to revisit the scene of the crime; that made  _two_ break-ins now, into her brand-new apartment by nominal agents of Chaos!  If she ever survived this debacle, she'd have to ask Merlin about setting up an arcane security system to cut down on this sort of thing happening in the future!  But for now...

Sarah repeated the trite phrase so many times that after a while it automatically ran on loop in her head, some part of her mind continuing the mantra as she envisioned her apartment building, the three-flight interior walkup, the exact colors of the bricks and wooden siding, the shape of the ornamental scalloping up by the eaves… the act felt like an odd mixture of self-delusion and blind faith, but following an amount of time that would’ve been patently impossible to calculate, she finally opened her eyes, feeling the confidence of _knowing_ , down to her bones-

Just in time to miss flying into some high-tension power lines! Pulling up hard, she sailed over them by a mere three feet, her heart racing, hearing the roaring hum and faint cracking pass beneath her, scaring a few pigeons in the process! A second later she realized where she’d come into Syracuse, recognizing the highway far down and off to her right, the campus a few blocks away. Sarah’s apartment building was exactly two-and-a-half blocks north and east of the school on Comstock. She had to circle a loop back around in order to be able to land a little more discreetly off the back street where there was less chance of anyone seeing her, practically praying that she hadn’t already been spotted while still airborne! The thought of utilizing the Dreamstone’s invisibility again had been tempting… before her chest gave out a sympathetic ache just from her having it on her person!   If only there were a truly safe place to ditch the stupid thing! A few ideas for just this course of action _had_ occurred to her on the way here, however, the simplest of which was to open a new savings account at a different bank than the one she normally used, along with a safety deposit box, leaving it in the vault.

In any event, she needed to go back home to resupply her money, her food and water – heck, maybe she’d even get to take a shower and change her clothes; stranger things had happened! It appeared to be midday here, hopefully mid-work-week from the current emptiness of the streets in the surrounding neighborhoods she was passing over. Sarah had no idea where her fetch was currently, and wasn’t entirely certain whether or not she was really ready to handle fusing with her at present, if it was actually that simple. It’s continued local activity might have even thrown off an Amberite spy or two by now; she couldn’t imagine Mandor Sawall being the only person that particular idea had occurred to! Granted it was risky coming here undisguised like this, and with a hoverboard, no less!   Any number of people might see her and wonder. With any luck, she wouldn’t be spotted in two places at once!

The front door to her building was only ever locked for safety after midnight. Thankfully, the stairwell was vacant as well as she lugged all the stuff she was carrying up the three flights to her room, resting the board against the wall momentarily so she could get out her key…

Only to remember that it wasn’t on her person! _Aw, man…_

Was she really desperate enough to go bug her new landlady? Laverne had obviously put up with enough college kids over the several decades she’d been running this old-nigh-historic complex to let new tenants know that she didn’t care _who_ was footing the bills: she wouldn’t tolerate blatant stupidity of any kind, and that included repeated lockouts. She was here to make sure that the place had working heat, water, and electricity, not to hold your hand. When Sarah first met her, she’d felt certain that Random had specifically chosen this locale to stiffen her backbone a bit after the manner of Amberite child-rearing, and she’d been amused by the lady’s ‘I’ll-leave-you-alone-if-you-leave- _me_ -the-heck-alone’ cantankerous attitude.

Of course she hadn’t been thinking at all of this… and the situation would look strange.   Laverne lived right at the end of this hall. She’d likely gotten used to Sarah’s fetch’s quiet demeanor and schedule by now.

She sighed.   Desperation time. She knocked on the door once out of curiosity:   nothing. Just for fun she went for the doorknob to jiggle it-

And immediately experienced a rather nasty panic-attack, having to fight down a very strong instinctive urge to turn and flee the building!

 _What the hell?!_   Forcibly slowing her breathing back down, eyes closed, she rallied against it… and then she recognized on her:   it felt like Chaos magick! Her eyes flew open at the thought!

This _was_ a Logrus-based security system, designed not to harm a potential intruder, but rather to merely scare them away! Now that she was paying attention, it _did_ feel sort of threatening just standing this close to it. And it did make sense when she remembered that both Dara and Mandor had been here in her absence, although without her own Logrus-compatible powers it would’ve been impossible for her to detect a signature. Either of them. Both. It didn’t really matter; the result was the same.

 _No, it does matter, _she suddenly thought, _it keeps me from getting in.   Dara, then._

Which meant that there was no chance of Sarah getting into her apartment even if the door stood wide open: if it was this unpleasant out here, she could well imagine how unlivable it might be inside for someone the ‘Lady’ might not want there!

Which also meant that she couldn’t get at Ghost’s booklet of directions to Shara’s New Yark, either.  

 _Shit_. After a single moment’s hesitation, she carefully moved the hoverboard over so that it rested against the door; thankfully nothing obvious occurred. As nice and incredibly easy as this method of transport was in the outer reaches of Shadow, it was far too conspicuous anywhere near home. Her fetch would recognize it for what it was hopefully, and stash it for her. She was dejectedly trudging back down the stairs and out the front door, wishing she could just get off her feet and rest for a while – knowing that it wasn’t safe to do so openly here – when her previous course of action mentally popped up again like a ‘Whack-a-Mole’ game. Maybe it _was_ too hard to shadow-walk to a specific person, but a shadow-object that was within physically close-range…

 _I wonder_.   Picking up her pace a little, Sarah exited the parking lot of her building and walked up the street a little ways until she could cut east at the stoplight. _And Ghost’s little book should be chucked into that box-hedge right over…_

As she approached, she could see a light-blue cover sticking out of the tall shrubbery kitty-corner to where she now stood, its paper looking a bit weathered-

 _There!_ She jay-dashed across the empty intersection and reached for it, standing on tiptoe… _got it!_ She almost couldn’t believe her eyes; she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t just seen it! The cover was bent up a bit, but she was grasping the same bound stack of paper covered on the inside with a clean Thari typeface! Even though it was a little dirty, she hugged it to herself in relief, catching her breath. One out of two purposes accomplished like this wasn’t bad, she reasoned… and quickly started walking again when she saw someone drive by, turning the corner in the other direction – thankfully no one she knew. Or at least she hoped not; the woman had openly stared at her through the driver-side window in passing!

Once she was safely alone again the next short block over, she finished off the water in her canteen, then opened up the outrageously thorough instructional book to the first page…

And remembered that it started at her parents’ house in Nyack! She groaned aloud; unless she was willing to make some hapless person lose their purse or wallet, there was absolutely no way that she could possibly even afford the taxi-fare all the way down to the suburbs of Uptown from here, to say nothing of her next meal at present! It had been years since she’d even looked at this thing, let alone tried to read it, the text written so dryly for the most part that it more resembled the setup instructions that came with a new VCR (or, in truth, a personal computer) than any digestible form of literature. At the next intersection she stopped to speed-read a few pages… and almost laughed at herself: Merlin’s A.I. had started this out with a very safe and law-abiding walk from her old house to the park in her town! She sighed, steeling her nerves. It was only eight more blocks to the city rose garden park, and there _was_ a drinking fountain there if she cared to try it. Maybe she could fake this after all.

Skimming ahead a little as she walked, she couldn’t help but notice certain instances in the text where the Ghostwheel’s turns of phrase sounded oddly childlike; he obviously obtained a rather large degree of pleasure from even simple sensorial surroundings in Shadow. He had to have been programmed to, to be able to enjoy the work he had originally been designed for, cataloging all the worlds.

Sarah reached the garden within fifteen minutes and had to sit on the circular wooden bench in the gazebo for a little while to catch her breath. An old couple were out in the garden enjoying the last few flowers of the season, the greenery beginning to go dormant compared to when she had driven by here last. How much time had gone by on Shadow Earth since she’d left this time, she suddenly wondered? Just the idea of the time-difference between Shadows in practice still felt somewhat alien to her.

“Alright,” she sighed to herself once they had walked away across the street, completely gone from view.   Stiffly standing back up, stretching her legs, meandering over to the fountain, she carefully refilled her canteen.   There was a secondary reason the book was so thick, she’d realized as she had sat there, casually thumbing through the rest, trying to guesstimate where she would have to change it to get back here: there were separate sections for every season in the old way of calculating them by the solstices, equinoxes and cross-quarter days, as well as every possible weather condition, starting with fair late-summer! Ghost had obviously second-guessed Sarah himself, and rather than ratting her out and following orders he had covered all possible outcomes, absolving himself of the liability in the process. He really was a sweet machine; she almost wished he was here right now.

 _In a way, he is_, she thought, flipping to page 42 – late summer/early autumn, in the ‘park’ section of the directions:

‘Once you have ascertained that no fellow shadow-humans or their domesticated small animals are watching you, proceed seventeen paces to the southeast toward the willow-stand near the pond. Pay special attention to the shades of the grass, the shapes of the trees – are they not asymmetrically pleasing to the eye? In fact, they are so pleasing that you want more of them, and a bit more room between them; they will open up before you as you walk precisely twenty-nine paces – oh, and watch your step, please; a dip in the path approaches. And there is a nice little footpath for you now…’

Sarah had only been peripherally aware of the changes in the scenery going on all around her as she walked, but at this point she stopped, marking the line with her finger. This method of shadow-walking was so strangely easy, like getting lost in a good story…

A quick look around confirmed that the city of Syracuse, New York, had once again been lost to the seas of time, space, and Shadow: she was walking alone through a lush greenway that cut through the aforementioned trees! Heaving a sigh of relief that this was actually working, she read on as she marched to Ghost’s directions:   in about ten minutes, the greenway had become a deciduous forest… albeit a very friendly, ‘happy little forest’ ala Bob Ross, replete with cute chipmunks, bright foxes and the like, intricate birdsongs weaving overhead. Heading through a valley, she passed around a field of amethyst points that were just sticking up out of the ground as if they had grown there, and was instructed to collect a few of the darkest, prettiest ones, as many as she could comfortably carry, for she would be able to barter or sell them where she was going.

 _It isn’t just me – this place is somewhere straight out of a children’s storybook_, she thought as she pocketed a particularly striking specimen that was as big as a ruler, adding it to the heft of the others in her pack, dully clinking against each other in there. Cutting behind a picturesque and potable waterfall on suspiciously dry rocks, she came through into a beautiful field of wildflowers, some of which she was also encouraged to pick, but this time for no reason other than humans seemed to enjoy flowering plants! She laughed when she came to the step-by-step instructions for weaving herself a garland of the blooms, yet obeyed it to the letter, putting the finished product on like a crown.

The floral perfume of the field lingered on because of it, into another forest, darker and richer than the other; there were blackberry bushes to raid and food-grade edible mushrooms that were apparently high in complete protein and safe enough that all she had to do was wipe the dirt and filaments off of them. Earthy and sweet, earthy and sweet and _juicy_ …

One-hundred-and-sixty-eight paces to the north later brought her out of the forest and into a much more artificial-seeming, overly bright world: there was silicon tile underfoot!

‘You are currently passing through the technological shadow-world called Sarq as a shortcut.   Ignore the whirring, clanking sounds and just keep your eyes on this page, reading; it won’t last long. Five more paces will bring you into a large, high-arched tunnel with light clearly visible upon the other side. Once you reach the end, let me be the first to welcome you to the city of New Yark, approximately one-hundred-and-six Shadows away from Amber by one form of calculation. The world which contains it – Urth – is in many ways nicer than your world, less polluted generally, yet the Barimens prefer a shadow-world further along the spectrum…’

Sarah stuck her finger in the page and jogged the rest of the way down the passage, almost half-expecting what she found there at the other opening: she had just emerged out of nowhere, through a fairly convincing replica of the Washington Arch in a proto-Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village!

 _Or whatever they call it here_ , she thought, ignoring the surprised looks she’d garnered from a few startled passersby, she had appeared so abruptly! But Sarah didn’t care: she’d just taken the proverbial Magical Mystery Tour to downtown New Yark!   How she loved this city on her home-shadow! Its constant movement, its endless variety, the eternal parade of interesting people from every walk of life and _then_ some, fearlessly being themselves for all the world to see.   Sarah had never felt out of place there like she could in Nyack: in New York City, there was room for everyone.  

Granted, she knew more of Greenwich Village from her mother, from the wild stories that periodically filtered out of the place, than from immediate experience. The New York she was better acquainted with was Broadway and the Upper West Side where her mother had lived after the divorce:   musicals and museums and Central Park, and always accompanied no matter what. As pretty as one’s current surroundings could be, the place definitely had a dark side that lurked along the edges, right under that glossy veneer.   There were places one did _not_ go – certainly not alone – and there were sad, dangerous things to look out for littered carelessly on the sidewalks and in the gutters and on the subway, remnants of a tragic way of dreaming your life away that had taken hold of so many in recent years.

There were far superior ways to do that; Linda Williams had been living proof. For as long as she could remember, Sarah had been brought downtown to see her mother on big stages in gigantic auditoriums, with mobs of admirers cheering and clapping and throwing flowers at her at the ends of shows – sometimes whole bouquets – one or two invariably finding their way back to her young daughter later. _That_ was the top, as far as Sarah was concerned; life couldn’t possibly get any better than being loved by seemingly the entire world for outwardly giving magnificent dreams life and action for them all to enjoy.

Shadow-walking, on principle, made quite a counter-argument, however…

Looking about her, Sarah almost felt a twinge of nostalgic familiarity, that she had been ignored again so quickly, just another eclectic artsy type in the Park, hardly newsworthy.   There were far more interesting things for people to be watching. A obese, middle-aged Latino man was shamelessly taking a bath right there in the fountain, exposing many tattoos in the process along with his body; there was the eagle of the Mexican flag across his shoulders and down his back. A fairly large gathering of onlookers were watching something off to her right on the green; walking over, Sarah finally managed to push her way through enough of them to spot what was at the center – an old black man in a smartly striped Zoot-suit and fedora was getting beaten at chess by a little Asian girl in a pastel-blue princess play-dress, who couldn’t have been more than five years old! The regular dog walkers were letting their canine buddies run free and play together in the designated quarter; other people were relaxing on the lawn elsewhere, taking in the sunshine in spite of the slight chill breeze, napping, reading, spooning on the lawn; someone was playing acoustic guitar for tips.   A Tibetan Buddhist monk was in the process of creating a temporary mandala out of different colored sands on the sidewalk: an intricate and beautiful meditation on the transience of life. A student demonstration for gay rights appeared to be in progress on the far right side of the park near the campus, from what Sarah could hear being shouted over the megaphone, rainbow flags flying and red ribbon placards hoisted high by the colorfully decked-out throng…although the colors in those flags were all mixed up, the ribbons lying on their sides. A news crew from Channel 15 had just arrived…

Sarah discreetly slipped away to a small thicketed area next to some trees and cracked open Ghost’s booklet again: ‘Take the paved footpath to the northwest corner of the park you are currently enjoying, look both ways and carefully cross the street north onto Weavers Place on the left-hand side of the cemented sidewalk. Carefully cross 16th Avenue (remembering to look, please.) There you will find a jewelry shop that specializes in wholesale semi-precious stones as a part of their business. Do not show your merchandise at the counter, but politely ask to be taken to the back office for reasons of personal safety.   Once there, show the proprietor your amethyst specimens; he may not pay you what they are actually worth, but accept what he offers you for them anyway, for the amount should be sufficient for a little sight-seeing and modest shopping. Insist to be paid in cash. Once you have the paper bills safely secreted on your person, continue up Weavers past Clay Street, then take the right-hand fork of Weavers and cross Crispin – please keep watching out for the automobiles; the drivers don’t always look. Cross 20th Street in the same fashion-’

“Hey is that a script lady?It looks like a script!What play’s it for?”

Sarah was startled by _very_ fast talking, and automatically looked up – straight into the face of a tall, severely over-makeuped, tan-skinned blonde woman in a red-sequined mini-dress! Or was it a woman? Their dark eyes were wide, wild almost, and they were practically quivering with energy! High on crack, probably, possibly even a little something else in the mix. Sarah had been concentrating so intently they had been able to walk straight up to her without her noticing, peeking over the cover, grabbing the top edge of the book!

“Whoa not a script!What’s that language?Is it Irish?Is it a spellbook?Are you a witch?Are you trying to talk to the ghosts?”

Sarah forced herself to breathe, doing the unthinkable – dog-earing the page before closing it, forcibly pulling it away from their long-nailed grasp.

“It’s just the equivalent of written driving directions,” she peevishly answered the obviously speeding queen in flawless Thari, making them take a wary step back from her, then another, “but when you’re _that_ messed up, everything looks like magic.   You wouldn’t recognize the real thing if it was staring you in the face – _begone!_ ” she gestured theatrically, watching them turn and book it in those four-inch, high-heeled red vinyl knee-high boots… which was actually fairly impressive; Sarah doubted she could’ve done that in those shoes!

It was definitely time to be moving on.

Following the paved walkway out of the Park, Sarah hiked across the intersection onto Weavers.   This was certainly ‘old-town’; the buildings lining the one-way street all had such individual character, each a different mixture of brick and stonework than its neighbors, an aesthetically pleasing variance in earth-tones. A handful on this street housed small businesses on the ground floor; the tempting notes of made-from-scratch marinara wafted out of an Italian restaurant with a group of leaving happy customers and snatches of what sounded like Frank Sinatra. In a primal sort of way, it was genuinely reassuring being surrounded by so many anonymous members of her own species again, and in a familiar culture to boot – a guy riding a vintage motorcycle with a girl in the sidecar zipped past.   None of the structures she was currently passing were taller than four floors; they were all likely built before the advent of elevators. There was more decorative cast iron along stairways and in front of garden-level apartments than there were bars over the windows; that was a good sign.   Semi-mature elm trees lined the walk; there was one scraggler forcing its way up a space that couldn’t have been two feet wide between two apartment complexes! Larger high-rises loomed on the other side of 16th, bright kiwi-green taxis pulling through the intersection, an equally ubiquitous hot dog vendor nearby… as was the subway, from the smell – yep, right across the street.

The aforementioned jewelers weren’t quite on the corner across the street, but the place was close enough that she spotted the business immediately, right next to a tourist shop.   Sarah straightened her shoulders and headed on in, past the ostentatious window display behind steel mesh, necklaces dripping in diamonds.

It took more than a little convincing of the expensively-suited Middle-Eastern owner to allow her into the back, but once there he immediately understood why, taking the unpolished, hefty, deep-violet amethyst points reverently in his cotton-gloved hands as she casually dug them out of her bag one after another after another… When he discovered that she had no normal vendor’s license (in fact, she had no form of identification at all at present) he nearly refused to do business with her, but after further haggling (and a little outright begging) he finally agreed to buy the two best ones, but only paying half the sum in cash now – $350 – assuring her that she could collect the balance on _Moon_ day when he would have a chance to visit his bank before coming to work, and advised her to try a crystal-and-incense shop a few blocks to the west to sell the others, claiming that the owner was more bohemian in business practice, from his experience with the man, who only dealt in cash anyway (some of which, he strongly suspected, was under the table.)

 _So it’s Saturday, end-of-the-week, whatever_, she thought, carefully rebagging her unsold merchandise and the crisp bills, shaking the man’s beringed right hand, letting herself back out. She noted a garnet necklace in passing, the stone big enough to be the Jewel of Judgment in a lighter, more elegant setting, surrounded by swirls of tiny diamonds in a delicate silver filigree instead of the chunky gold…

Old fire-escapes that could have been straight out of West Side Story decorated the lower, flat-faced buildings running to her right – she’d have to remember that diner over there.   Kids her age and younger were hanging out together on a handful of the stepped porches in a wide variety of dress; a couple had boom boxes. If she hadn’t already been running and hiking for miles previously, this would’ve been a rather pleasant little walk. Rows of bicycles were parked outside of a building with a coffee shop on the ground floor on Clay…

The fork in the road was clearly marked, a triangular three-story filling it; fancily carved eaves graced another along the even thinner road, barely enough room for parallel parking on one side, the moderate foot traffic forced closer; a few barred windows along this stretch, but only on the first floor – still not bad.   Crossing again past what was obviously a seafood restaurant from the strong fish smell, the sidewalk trees created a neat tunnel-effect that lasted for part of the block, ending at the dry cleaners; she had to be getting closer…

 _Okay, so there’s 20 th… now what?_ Turning away toward an independent bookshop’s filled-to-covered window display, she reopened Ghost’s instructions; she certainly wasn’t alone out here, but there were surprisingly few people out on the streets in this part of town for a Saturday afternoon. Did the world party on, say, Wednesday mornings instead a weekend in New Yark?   Of course she still didn’t know the exact date, and she was only guesstimating the time at present.

‘From 20th Street, cross over to the right-hand side of Weavers at the intersection safely, then continue on to Crystal St. Shara Wilkins lives at 204 Weavers Place, apartment number 5D. Enjoy your visit. For instructions detailing your return trip to Shadow Earth in late summer/early autumn in fair weather, turn to page 147.’

Sarah exhaled; almost there, then. Stucco, red-painted brick, more iron bars, an actual bar, the smell of alcohol…

There was a six-story red-brick apartment building with ornamental light stonework, scrolling, and stylized Green Man faces over each window, and a drop-off laundry service on the ground floor: this was the place! Sarah’s heartbeat quickened as she started to smile: wouldn’t Shara be surprised!

The small Ionian-columned entrance was on Crystal, however, along with the sinuously cast fire-escapes.   Walking up the front steps, Sarah was a little surprised to find that the door was unlocked; she entered the Art Deco-style main hall (that might’ve not been updated maintenance-wise since then, either, from the looks of things), and climbed all the way up the rickety wooden staircase to the fifth floor without incident, having to stop once at the landing of the third to catch her breath.

 _5C…5D!_ She ran a hand through her hair and buzzed the doorbell, ready to greet a girl she wished had been her older sister, with a big hug…

A thin-faced young man with long dark hair and dark eyes, maybe in his late twenties, answered the door wearing a brightly-patterned silk caftan that flowed down to his knees – and apparently nothing else! A lit cigarette was in the fingers of his left hand; the dim apartment behind him smelled of it, too, and possibly even a little pot.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh! I – I’m sorry,” Sarah laughed self-consciously, “is Shara in, by any chance?” _She must have a live-in boyfriend; stupid of me to not think of something like that!_

He shook his head.   “There’s nobody of that name who lives in this building. You sure you got the right address?”

“204 Waverly, 5D.   Shara Wilkins? Maybe she moved recently, I don’t know.”

The man sidled past her into the hallway; out on the landing of the third floor was now a middle-aged, mustachioed black man in a green polo shirt and jeans, polishing the wooden floors of the hallways. “Hey, Bill!   Cute chick up here asking after a Shara Wilkins! Ring any bells?”

“Aw, _yeah_ , the actress – Lydia Wilkins, _her_ kid! Yeah, I knew her. They were only here for about… four years, was it? I think so. That apartment was vacant for a coupla weeks inbetween; you never met her,” he left his squeegee-mop resting against a wall, climbing on up to join them. “Hey, keep those damn things in your own room, Dante, they stink up the place!” he pointed one arthritic finger at the offending cigarette as soon as he saw it, still mounting the last demi-flight inbetween; it was promptly deposited in an ashtray on a bookshelf just inside the man’s door to smolder, obeying the proverbial letter of the law while protesting its spirit. Upon seeing Sarah, the super seemed to do a double-take… then looked closer. “For a minute there I woulda sworn you were _her_!” He suddenly smiled. “You ain’t come back to pull ol’ Bill’s chain, have ya, girl?”

Sarah shook her head with a sad smile of her own. “I take it she moved, then. I haven’t seen her in a few years; guess my information was too old. You don’t have any idea where she went, do you?”

“ ’fraid not. You her long-lost sister or what? I’m sorry, but I just can’t shake the resemblance – it’s like the Prince and the Pauper! ‘cept she wouldn’t ever wear anything unless it was ‘on trend’ this month,” he rolled his eyes a little.

“Something like that,” Sarah coolly demurred. “Was she at least doing alright when she left?”

Bill sighed, leaning against the iron guard rail. “You _didn’t_ hear about her mama then, did ya? _Real_ sad,” he looked away, shaking his head, “she didn’t need to go that way: got hit late at night getting out of a taxi on the street-side ‘cause the backseat was crowded. Clipped fast, broke her neck:   dead, just like that.   Landlord offered to sign the apartment over to Shara under the table, same price and all so she could afford it, but she cleared out instead, didn’t tell nobody where she was goin’.   Getting on with her life, I expect.   This place had too many memories for her, to say nothing of that odd turn she had ‘bout the time they moved in:   disappeared for two whole months, police couldn’t find her, nothin’… then just as sudden she’s back and can’t remember where she’s been, like somethin’ straight out of an alien abduction movie! Went to the doctor and she was fine, but still… can’t exactly blame her for not wanting to stay after her mama went…”

Sarah suddenly felt rather sheepish and somewhat guilty, belatedly remembering what Shara now couldn’t: Merlin had said he was going to memory-wipe her of her time spent on Shadow Earth, of everything that had happened to her from the time of Mandor’s abduction to the time the king of Chaos got her home, as a way of minimizing legal liability with Amber, to say nothing of the possible psychological strain on a normal shadow-human of knowing something of the true nature of reality. For that girl, it was as if none of it had ever happened; likely she just blinked and two months had gone by, both awful and _incredible_.   Sarah admitted she would’ve been pretty freaked out herself if something like that had happened to her! Of course, he hadn’t ameliorated _that_ …

Which meant that Sarah had absolutely no reason to be here; she wasn’t about to weird out her shadow-double any more than she had been already!

“You’re from out-of-town, right?” the super asked her. “I got some phone books you could look through if you wanna try an track her down.”

But Sarah waived off the kind offer. “I’d known about that incident, but I’d forgotten it myself. It’s not _that_ important that I see her; I don’t want to bring up any traumatic memories.”

“Sorry about that.   You were plannin’ on stayin’ with her while you were here, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, wishing again that she could get off her feet, switching her overly-laden leather bag to her other shoulder.

“And here you are,” the slim, Italianate man butted in, “all dressed up for Green Witch and no one to play with. Are you sure _I_ can’t do anything for you?” he insinuated, lounging against his open lintel.

“Hey, cool it, Casanova” the super stood up for her, “the lady ain’t interested in what you’re not quite hidin’ beneath that there fancy bedsheet. Were you plannin’ to take the subway right back out,” he addressed Sarah again, “or were you stayin’ anyway?”

“I had thought of staying at least for tonight; my plans just all went out the window,” she laughed humorlessly, “and I guess I have a little time on my hands. I haven’t gotten to spend much in this part of town.”

“You at least got money for a hotel?”

Sarah nodded.

“Then I’d hurry and get a room, if I were you. In about two hours, I swear every last crazy in New Ængland is gonna descend on us like they do every weekend, partyin’ like they _own_ the place ‘til three or four in the morning – get yourself some earplugs, too; you gonna need ‘em to _sleep_!”

“At least the ghosts party quietly,” Dante chimed in, “but then again they’re from a better generation that didn’t rob people sleeping openly in Walsingham Square, either.”

Sarah almost couldn’t believe the serious-sounding commentary that had just emerged from this man’s mouth, the wheels in her head starting to turn from that oddly similar comment she’d heard not half-an-hour ago, albeit from a druggie! “…did you just say _ghosts_? Or is that only a local figure-of-speech, like-”

“I said ghosts and I _meant_ ghosts; you’ll wish you weren’t alone tonight. I’ll leave my door unlocked.”

“ _Dante_ ,” the super ground out a warning tone.

“Is he telling the truth?” Sarah pressed.

Bill seemed to carefully consider his next words. “There _are_ ,” he began slowly, deliberately. “You must not watch any T.V., bless you for the holdout that you are.   It’s been on the local news, but the national broadcasts and papers have all been avoiding the story like it’s poison; the Street Speak is coverin’ it, of course. And I think it’s startin’ ta happen _elsewhere_ , too. But they ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of, as far as me and mine can tell. I got an old friend who knows a guy who’s tight with a legit juju-man up in Haarlem – he’s asked _him_ about it, and I guess even the dark Loa don’t put on a free show, ‘specially with no bodies to inhabit. This somethin’ _else_. These ghosts don’t hurt nobody, now,” he reassured her, “it’s like they can’t even see us. But we’ve been getting apparitions around town for the past three weeks, some of ‘em famous, even: ol’ Rob Duncan’s back in the Park, and so is Albert Ginseng, getting high for all the world ta see. And believe you me, the world’s comin’ ta _see_ it! At least avoid the Park after dark if you’re gonna be out; it’s attracting even more crazies than usual: scam psychics and alien worshippers and people who think they gonna be the Ghostbusters! It’s gotta mean somethin’, but they ain’t _dangerous._ It’s just like all the old souls are comin’ on back home.”

Dante scoffed, stepping back inside his apartment, picking up the half-burned-down cigarette as he grabbed the door from the inside. “Ask him about Harlan Pickering, if you dare.” He closed it.

Sarah uneasily looked back to the super; the man looked nearly as uncomfortable. He nodded once.

“We’ve had one death in this part of town ‘cause of it so far – one; you’re more likely to get shot in Middlegreen in broad daylight. Some lady saw old Harlan rush straight through her to embrace another ghost-man, and she literally died of fright on the spot: had a heart attack, bam, dead. Hit the floor. That’s one high-strung woman with a heart condition to begin with, and she’d come from _Jersin_ to see ‘em on purpose, too, not even from around here!   You scare easy, miss?”

“Not anymore,” Sarah gave him a rueful smirk.

“Well… either stay in when the sun goes down, or stay where there’s a _lot_ of people; that should be easy enough. The drunks are more likely to be trouble than the ghosts. You _sure_ you wanna give up on your sister like that?” his dark eyebrows bunched together. “My flat’s 6A,” he pointed up the last short flight of stairs. “You can come in and have a cup of coffee and use my phone, so long as it’s local.”

“It’s really sweet of you to offer, but… I think I’d better just go,” she awkwardly turned toward the stairs again.

Bill sighed, but he was nodding. “Sometimes it’s best to leave the past where it _is_ ,” he commented, walking down with her to the front door. “Just get yourself a nice room:   go see if the Walsingham Hotel is all filled up yet. Don’t worry about any of this nonsense. You take care, now.”

In moments Sarah was back out on the street, at loose ends. The feeling would’ve been glorious if the situation hadn’t been so dire:   Amber’s problems with Tir-na Nog’th were obviously starting to spill over into Shadow! And at present there was nothing she could do about it! Her fatigue caught up with her all at once… but she couldn’t just keep standing here; people would start giving her change like she was homeless.

Which was actually technically correct at the moment; she couldn’t go _home_ …

“Murderer!”

Some woman in sweats and a ski-mask dashed past her, throwing a handful of ketchup on her sealskin jacket!

“ _Hey!_ This thing was so ethically made the animals were probably _prayed_ to!” she screamed back in knee-jerk rage… but it was pointless. “At least I’m already at the cleaners,” she muttered to herself with a sigh, walking over to the corner establishment and dropping off the coat and its associated accoutrements while she was at it, breaking her first hundred-dollar bill to pay for the job.

Trudging back down Weavers, she stopped into the bookshop she had passed before on principle, wandered until she found a cushioned chair, and collapsed into it, heaving a sigh in physical relief.

What in the worlds was she suppose to do?! The unwelcome thought of Mandor suddenly popped into her mind again. Was he free already? Had he had to tell Fiona what he was _really_ up to?

Was he shadow-pulling toward her right this second?!

… no, she couldn’t give into outright panic; that was worse than accomplishing nothing. She dug out her canteen and took a swig; she’d dumped out the municipal tap water at that pristine, sweet-tasting waterfall on that unknown shadow.

“No food or drinks allowed in here,” a female employee promptly scolded her from where she knelt, shelving new acquisitions from a cardboard box. Her hair was very short and cotton-candy pink, and she was wearing a punk-band t-shirt that had been converted into a dress, with black lacy tights and army boots beneath.

“Sorry,” Sarah mumbled, putting it back… and then an idea struck her, likely brought on by the subconscious combination of books and this carryall: a trump. While his side-interest in the problem at hand was entirely self-serving, the former Duke of Sawall had brought up an interesting point concerning the current king of Chaos having a widely-known yet officially unsanctioned communications back-channel directly linked to the king of Amber. If she couldn’t count on Random Barimen for help or clemency, then it made cold, rational sense to try his opposite number, knowing that the Concord still legally bound them both to keep mutual peace as far as it was possible.   Sarah hadn’t ever been very good when it came to sketching these, but she was beginning to wonder whether it was just her own self-doubt that was holding her back from making a real one; with other magicks of a similar nature, it was the _intent_ , not the method of execution, that really mattered.

And she was clearly too exhausted to try shadow-walking out of here at present, even with clean instructions, to say nothing of the fact that she would come out over 200 miles south of where she needed to be! And she was starving for a real meal; there _had_ been a diner on the way up here, near the subway station.

 _It’s not retreat, it’s retrenchment, _she thought firmly; that’s what her former tutor would’ve called this – taking the time necessary to care for yourself before continuing on.

“Can I help you find anything?” It was the same girl, obviously not going to put up with a loiterer who wasn’t even making the attempt to read anything.

“Yes, actually: do you carry sketchbooks and artist’s pencils here?”

“Sure, right up front by the desk on the wall display. What size book were you thinking of?”

Sarah slowly got back up – her poor leg muscles protesting the abuse – but she picked out what she wanted, adding a few back-dated newspapers to the tab along with a current one, curious as to what all she had missed in the time she’d been away, grabbing a free copy of the Speak from a dispenser on the street outside. About five minutes later, she was seated in a red-leather booth in the diner, practically inhaling a garden-style burger with everything plus a dill spear on the side, crunchy breaded onion rings with ketchup, and a thick chocolate milkshake while pouring over the news, the papers spread out all over the table. She had initially been stunned to discover that she had been gone from Earth’s neighborhood of shadows for a little over a month; it had been only a few days to her! And she had slept clean through two of them! It was admittedly a bit disorienting reading what was going on _here_ , but she could kind of guess what must be happening on Shadow Earth from the articles. There were new pictures of the giant gas planet Narwhal from the Voyeur space probe (which had also found four new moons and even rings during the flyby!) The government had just had to bail out savings-and-loan banks all over the country; millions of people had lost money. Auto-immune disease was still ravaging the Village regardless of the acronym it went by, according to the Speak. Racial tensions were finally reaching a dangerous crescendo point in Brookton after the shooting of an unarmed 16-year-old black kid by an adult white gang. Perrin Roswald had been banned from Baseball’s Hall of Heroes due to illegal betting, and Jim Colt had died.   A fraternity in Veronica was currently going on a strange rampage. The U.S.-backed contras in Nicarao were in trouble again. There had been earthquakes and boat crashes and millions of people in the Eastern Border peacefully protesting the Russian United Socialist Republic in a human chain that was miles long, singing away. And New Yarkers were on the verge of electing their first black mayor by a landslide!

Once she couldn’t justify sitting there anymore, Sarah left a good-sized tip on her table, scraped the milkshake glass one more time with a long spoon, and made her way out and across 16th Avenue, feeling a bit better as she walked back toward the Park – a girl on rollerblades flying past her at one point – but turning in at the hotel, which was a thin, tall building just across the street.

The interior was definitely updated modern/upscale, made to accentuate the original Art Deco décor, and the equally retro-dressed red-headed female clerk behind the counter seemed incredulous that Sarah thought she could just get in without a reservation: they were usually booked up weeks in advance, if not months!

“Look, you can stick me in the broom closet on a pile of clean towels, I don’t care! I just need a place to crash for one measly night!   Don’t you have _anything_?   It isn’t like I can’t pay.”

The reservation clerk’s expression was currently drifting somewhere between irritation and pity over the girl’s seeming naïveté and lack of appropriate planning.

“All right,” she sighed, adjusting her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “depending on how brave you are, we might have one; we haven’t been letting it out because the last five people who stayed there all saw this ghost of a lady with bobbed hair in a fringed flapper dress looking out the window all night long down at the street, like she was watching for someone – not very scary compared to some of the other apparitions that have been reported around the Village, but definitely unnerving and not terribly restful, unless you’re cool about hanging out with the dead. At least you’ll have a good story to tell when you get home. But that’s why it’s vacant; the manager doesn’t feel good about openly offering it to the public.” The woman suddenly laughed. “The room with Jean Baer, on the other hand, is fairly popular; we can’t keep people _out_ of that one!”

“But… there’s no poltergeist-type activity that happens with this lady? Lights flickering, furniture moving?”

“She loops back the drape of the window to look out, and stands there right next to the bed until the sun comes up, but nothing beyond that as far as we know. It’s mostly just spooky and annoying with the light coming in-”

“I’ll take it,” Sarah said definitely with a nod. “I’ll just get a sleep mask to go with the earplugs I’ve already been warned I’m going to need.”

“We have those articles on hand. Want me to add them to your bill?”

“Sure. How much?”

A single night at the hotel wound up costing Sarah over half the money she currently had left. _There has to be some kind of cosmic rule-of-thumb about that_ , she thought, going up to the fifth floor in the antique lift – gift of the gods – wandering on down the hall past the painted Art Deco ladies on the wall tiles that indicated the floor, to the right room number, unlocking the door.

Her room was definitely small, just big enough for the full-sized bed and writing desk across from it, an AC unit propped into the tall, thin window, and while the connected white-tile bathroom was similarly city-sized – cramped – a full bathtub had been stuffed in there somehow, underneath the shower!

 _Oh, yeah_…   Throwing her heavy bag and woolen cape onto the bed, hanging the flower garland off one of the black-and-white framed photos of old movie stars above the upholstered headboard, she quickly stripped, changing into the provided terrycloth bathrobe, then called room service to request laundry service ASAP, hanging all of her remaining clothing up in the hollowed front door.

She accidentally fell asleep in the tub.

Awakening to her tepid, bubbly surroundings over three hours later, her hands and feet all pruney from soaking too long, she groggily sat up and finished rinsing her hair out, feeling too heavy as she stood back up, pulling the plug. But at least she was finally _clean_ : she would never take this feeling for granted ever again!   Wrapping up in towels (not wanting to put the dirtied robe back on again; she now noted the overpowering burned herb smell – no wonder that guy in the apartment building had thought she was a hippie!), she wandered back out into the bedroom, retrieving and unbagging her freshly pressed articles, getting dressed again, this time in the green woolen dress; it was a bit cool in here, and doubtless it would get colder by this evening. Getting the small Moleskin sketchbook and pencils out of her bag, she sat down at the desk… then remembered to get her canteen, too, so she wouldn’t have to get up for any reason again, turning on the small light that was there rather than opening the curtains; if some power had mercy on her and this worked, she wanted there to be absolutely no chance of an accidental audience from the apartment building just across the street! Centering herself, she closed her eyes and brought to mind the still-young-looking countenance of Merlin Barimen, more like his father that not, and yet still very much his own man – Chaos-unique…

She opened her eyes and sketched a quick oval-shape, starting with the hair…

Two-hours-forty-five minutes and six aborted attempts later, she was ready to throw in the towel:   intention was _not_ enough in this case. She simply wasn’t a good enough artist to do people – in fact, she was still downright lousy when it came to realism in general. And she wasn’t even sure whether she was going about this right; using the Pattern to execute these was a completely different operation than using the Logrus.   The harbinger of Grand Design was supposed to be hidden away beneath the image rather than worked into it…

Crumpling up her latest failure and throwing it in the wastebasket, Sarah buried her face in her hands, resting her elbows on the desk. There was no way around it: she was officially stuck – ‘no one to catch her’, indeed. She blearily looked back at the bed and its contents, then closed her eyes with a sigh.

  _Alright, what would Mom do?_

First of all, Linda Williams wouldn’t give up; at the very least she wouldn’t sit around feeling sorry for herself if she wasn’t happy about something. Sarah got up, crossed over to the bed and sat down, grabbing her issue of the Speak. Her mother used to tell her that when she was first starting out as an actress, whenever she was feeling low about herself, whenever she’d been turned down for a part that she’d really wanted – that she thought she could’ve done well – she went to a play, even if all she could afford at the moment was a one-night-only hole-in-the-wall sort of affair.

“You don’t learn these kinds of skills in a vacuum,” she could hear her saying. “If enough good directors whose opinion you would trust think that what you’re doing is wrong, then try to go watch what they think is _right_ ; pay attention to everything, take notes if you have to…”

Sarah found herself flipping through the local theater listings – not because she thought the inspiration to get her out of this jam was going to just drop out of the sky, but because the ritual of the act alone was meaningful to her. There was a kind of power to this, but of a very different sort altogether.

One play title jumped out at her almost immediately: ‘Other People’s Possessions’! She spluttered a laugh and knew what she was doing tonight; it was just too perfect!   And the theater wasn’t too far away either, according to the free map of the Village she’d picked up in the diner, only four short blocks southeast on Mimosa Lane; she could walk it.

Drying and braiding her hair back, finishing getting ready, Sarah removed the leftover amethyst points and the Amberite geography book from her carryall, hiding them underneath the mattress; she was getting tired of lugging the heavy things around – they would be safe enough in here for the time being. She had briefly thought of putting the Dreamstone in the hotel safe, but quickly decided against it: somebody was bound to wonder what she was doing toting around such an obviously expensive piece of jewelry in the first place, to say nothing of shapeshifting Chaosians abroad who could likely pass for her if they tried hard enough. For a straight guy, Mandor Sawall had proven to be eerily proficient at portraying believable women! Hiding the remaining hundred-dollar bill (with the an unfamiliar president’s face on it; all the men on the money were different from Shadow Earth America) in her fresh-smelling bra, she pulled her boots back on, making sure that she had everything that she needed one last time, including the key to the room, before heading out again.

Sarah sort of assumed that the super for Shara’s old apartment building had been exaggerating at least a little bit when he was talking about the out-of-town characters who came to troll the West Village on weekends. It turned out he hadn’t been exaggerating in the least: the moment she stepped out onto the street, it was like being in a mashup of Halloween, Mardi Gras, and a highly disorganized Pride Fest! On a whim, she dashed back up to her room and grabbed her flower garland, donning it again, grinning; she looked unusually ‘normal’ in this crowd!

It was a beautiful evening to be out, even if it was a little chilly, with darker cumulous clouds coming in from the east. She followed the press of the crowd down the tree-lined green edge of the Park, southwest along the artistic cobblestone walkway, past a block of less descript apartment buildings (though English ivy was making a half-hearted attempt at scaling one of the brick facades), a few window planters and hanging baskets with hardy trailing ferns breaking up the expanse of stone, cement, glass, and asphalt.  

A seemingly endless row of restaurants, taverns and nightclubs (mostly jazz) with outdoor seating abruptly appeared as she crossed West 23rd Street, serving every last foodstuff and alcohol known to man, the tiny tables crowded and noisy, with competing music and even more conversation emanating from within the establishments, the different cuisines and seasonings all warring with each other in the open air outside. The sidewalks were getting even busier, the ubiquitous apartments towering above adding to the human clamor; some had lights on now, even the flicker of a few television screens was visible from down here.

Turning right onto Mimosa Lane, the theater was easy to spot down the block to the right, with the small horde of characters straight out of the Village People standing outside, chatting and laughing, more than a few smoking (not all tobacco), the old-fashioned lightbulb-surrounded marquee lit up with the show title. Once inside, she quickly discovered that the play was more than a little popular; she wound up having to take a seat up in the very back of the orchestra section of the long, rectangular black-painted theater, behind a woman whose hair was teased up so tall that she had to keep craning around her just to see the stage!

Sometimes knowledge of the nature of Shadow could rather understandably color a person’s thinking, especially when it came to all manner of coincidences. Even though the play was about brokering for power in the higher echelons of financial society, Sarah couldn’t help but feel the tug of an all-too-familiar thread: the taking of something from someone who wasn’t utilizing it to its full potential by someone who not only knew how to capitalize on it, but how to actually make it work. To her surprise, there was quite a bit of unexpected humor in the production for such a serious subject matter, but after the first act the plot took such an odd twist, culminating in a jury awarding the naïve ‘little guy’ all of his rich nemesis’ holdings, which he immediately distributed amongst everyone he met, ending in a huge musical chorus number with rather obvious socialist (or even communist) overtones: standard fare for the old Village, really. But Sarah couldn’t brush off the incongruity; the outcome felt too forced.   The ‘bad guy’, like the unpopular Merchant of Venice before him in Shakespeare’s day, had actually been in the _right_ , regardless of his reasoning: he left the stage penniless to jeers, karmic justice enacted for his many ‘crimes’ against humanity.

It was still an entertaining two hours, though. Once all the final bows were finished, Sarah worked her way through her garishly-clad fellow theater-goers, many of whom were still nursing what was left of their drinks, lingering by the bar next to the stairwell, obviously in no hurry to leave…but it was more like they were avoiding something outside than enjoying each other’s company, not unlike the way people sometimes wait out a storm together in whatever store they happen to be in at the time. Upon stepping out of the double glass doors and glancing down the block, she immediately spotted why.

There were colorless-translucent phantoms – people garbed in every western fashion from the Colonial Era to 1970s glam rock – appearing and disappearing in erratic patterns on Mimosa Lane, right there in the middle of the street and wandering along the sidewalks!   Some of them seemed capable of seeing and interacting with one another and were in the process of doing so in various ways, as if this were just any old day in the neighborhood: laughing and embracing friends in dirty uniforms just off the clock from a steel mill; beatniks deep in existential dialogue and debate; there was a fist-fight in progress over by the far corner, with living onlookers placing bets alongside their ghostly counterparts; a fine lady in a corseted dress with a bustle and a lacy parasol strolled along on the arm of her dandy of a man who was pushing a perambulator; and one pair of ghosts were in the midst of an utterly outrageous mime of a chess match, sitting on thin air, playing with the same! None of them were lasting longer than approximately thirty-to-forty-five seconds apiece, drifting in and out of existence as if some god were playing with a tuner-dial on a cosmic radio! Bill What’s-his-name had been right again: it _was_ certainly unnerving to behold, but moreso out of the inherent strangeness, the novelty of the experience, than anything else. It had obviously drizzled a bit during the course of the play, with the way that the streets and buildings were shining in the reflected light from the near-sepia tinting of the streetlamps, making this section of old town look even older in spite of the clusters of small neon signs in the windows and over the doors of the various establishments – raucous laughter echoed out from a comedy club on the corner of Mimosa and MacDonald, mingling with the conversation and bursts of laughter on the street as Sarah passed it, crossing and turning left, following the thick, mixed crowds of brightly colorful living and uniformly pale dead on her way back to the hotel, thinking of grabbing a big slice or two of the local cheese pizza while she was at it from a dinky hole-in-the-wall pizzeria further up this stretch on this side that only served two kinds (both cheese) from the advertisement painted on the window, and nowhere to sit down.

As bizarre as the general presence of the ghosts was, it was far more interesting watching other people’s reactions to them, which ran the gamut from outright terror, to awe and wonder, to… well… acts of publicly indecent behavior, to put it delicately, likely because the perpetrators couldn’t be seen or heard by those they were mercilessly mocking. It was a microcosm of human psychology on open display in the face of the unknown.   There was probably a starving writer sitting at one of these little round café tables along the sidewalk, taking careful notes for the impending Ken Burns-style documentary right now.

Further up MacDonald, past the restaurants but not quite to the Park, the motions of an unusually long, uniformly loping gait of a group of individuals suddenly caught Sarah’s eye, partly because of the conspicuous room fellow foot-traffic were giving them, out of all those on the sidewalks headed down the avenue – moving toward the action – the walkers wearing plain black suits and fedoras, looking not unlike stereotypical ‘mob men’. As they came closer to passing her on the opposite side of the cars, she gradually came to realize what it was that had seemed strange about them: it was their _actual_ locomotion, which was more reminiscent of an equine or even canine saunter at this slow speed, even though they were all walking ‘normally’. Hairless, tightly pulled gray skin and heavily exaggerated thin jaw-lines shone briefly under the next streetlamp…

It couldn’t be… it was! A pair of bloodshot, coldly inhuman eyes picked her face out of the crowd around the same time, accompanied by a quick whisper that revealed needle-sharp barracuda teeth! Five more pairs of eyes followed, in her direction…

They had actually tracked her all the way through Shadow!  

Sarah was backing up step for step, her mind flying! These creatures could outdistance her in under a minute flat on foot! If she tried to hide in one of the restaurants or clubs, they could easily stake the place out, trapping her inside! There was no point in calling the police on attempted assailants who could likely walk right out of this world in the blink of an eye – and come back in at even closer range!

There wasn’t any time to think it out: Sarah turned on her heel and openly ran for it back down McDonald Avenue against the dense foot-traffic, dodging tables, shoving between people angrily shouting for her to watch where she was going, narrowly missing cars when she had to take to the gutter for a second or two – lights, sounds, surprised faces – a quick glance behind at the sudden blare of car horns: her pursuers had just crossed the small street against traffic, one of them somersaulting over a hood on one elongated gray hand, the viciously sharp spur on the back of it revealed! A woman screamed.

She could try to shift away, but her chances were better in the city right where she was, with obstructions that might slow them down! Turning off on Blinker, she saw a taxi coming and hailed it… but the driver was another alien! And he was tailing her, holding something odd-looking in his left hand! Sarah didn’t stick around to find out the hard way:   she took a dangerous drag off the Dreamstone, feeling her kidneys abruptly on fire, zooming past the restaurants and stunned patrons, the soles of her boots physically hot as she made a hard left again on Sylvester Street in a blur of light, glass, ghosts and cement – knocked-over table! – then a right on 13th Avenue, and another on Tomas!

She stopped on a dime the moment she was around the corner, panting hard, clutching her aching flank, her heart hammering in her ears, hot, certain that none of them had seen where she’d gone… but there wasn’t much time to find a place to hide if they were tracking her by the Stone! A bar, a coffee shop, more restaurants – the crowds wouldn’t save her!

_Wait … what in the world?_

On the left side of the street, just three small businesses down, two ghosts, a man in a suit and a woman with short-bobbed straight hair, were coming out of an unmarked door in a wall – no outside handle, not even a security peephole – in the front of a closed gift shop: it was one of those old speakeasies someone had turned into a bar or a club! Sarah jay-dashed across the street in front of traffic, just making it in time to grab the edge of the gray-painted door before it closed, all but flying inside!

… into an ugly cement service-style hallway, running nimbly down a long flight of stairs amidst the fire-escape lights, hearing the door far above click closed; the seam had to be nearly invisible unless one knew this was here! Her knees were a bit wobbly by the time she reached the bottom; the smell of alcohol and the sound of old torch-songs from the forties and fifties was steadily emanating down a low-ceilinged, red-carpeted hallway.   Sarah briefly reflected that she was likely too young to be legally allowed in this establishment, but at present that was the least of her worries!

 _Oh, finally!_   She had just spotted the entrance!   A lemon-lime soda sounded really good right about now, even if the place didn’t serve any food. That stunt had to have burned a lot of calories: she was suddenly starving!

Turning in at an open door to the left, she stepped into a cozily warm, opulently black-and-white Art Deco club in low light, antique geometrically-designed lamps along the walls, candles in small glasses on the small, round, covered tables, which were packed with dressed-up clientele: really atmospheric, if close. There was a bar off to the left side, but it was almost invisible in the dark. In fact, the only thing that _was_ clearly lit was the tiny stage in the back of the long, thin house, a man up there in a snazzy old-fashioned suit and fedora crooning away to pre-recorded music… something like a Dean Martin song, maybe?

Sarah carefully made her way over to the bar and ordered her soda, standing there while she waited for the bartender to pull and push the proper levers on the ancient carbonation machine. This place really _was_ pretty cool, after its own fashion.

The song ended; the patrons politely clapped, but somehow to Sarah’s ears the sound was strange, and she couldn’t for the life of her place why.

A table was vacated off to the right by the wall about a third of the way from the stage, its beautifully-dressed occupants leaving: the woman was wearing a full-length evening gown with a mink stole, the man a long black cape and top hat! Sarah took a seat, setting her bag on the floor between her legs-

Her hand distinctly brushed against fur. Had that lady forgotten a hat or a muff or something? It was hard to make out in the dim light, but Sarah couldn’t see anything down there, pushing back the tablecloth… odd. Nevermind.

She went to take a sip of her drink as the next song started, this one a bit more up-tempo; she still didn’t recognize it, but that wasn’t terribly surprising – vintage ballads weren’t her forte unless they had been in a musical.

She quickly realized that she also didn’t recognize this smell: it was no constituent of any lemon-lime soda she had ever imbibed. It wasn’t even alcohol, like what could happen if a bartender got in a hurry and was sloppy with the seltzer hose. It was bitter, but with a tang that could only be described as _off_ , rancid – some kind of herb, maybe?

She was about to casually place the glass back on the table (better safe than sorry) when an unusual sound caught her attention, and she looked over to the table to her left: a man was tapping his fingers against the tabletop in time to the beat – but his fingernails were too short to be making that sound…

His fingers were audibly clicking against the wooden surface.

And each of them had ball-joints, with tiny screws.

It felt surreal, like something out of a dream…

Only she wasn’t dreaming.   Her hand was lightly shaking as she put down her untouched soda, the truth quietly sinking in. She discreetly examined his face, that of his pretty companion, of others she could see from here, some behind, suddenly feeling ice-cold in spite of the soothing warmth of the room, her pulse beginning to speed up. Psychologically she felt as if the floor had just dropped out from beneath her…

Every last person at the tables was an elaborate, mannequin-like marionette-style _puppet_!   She was completely surrounded by them:   gently smiling faces, blinking doll’s eyes, hinged joints! No visible strings, though! How…

 _…was that a tail?! _ She spotted something decidedly non-human shift beneath the floor-length cloth under the table ahead of hers… and stifled a scream in a sudden burst of terror: they were being operated somehow from beneath the tables!  

The current song was ending; the singer looked up, grinning straight into her eyes…

Her jaw involuntarily dropped: it was _Jareth_!  

He stepped away from the microphone stand, raising his right arm like a predetermined signal, and most of the human-sized puppets instantly slumped – some falling from their chairs, clattering to the floor – as a horde of _goblins_ rushed her-

She fainted dead away.

* * *

 

Sleepless nights

And sleepfilled days

That run too quickly together

Anymore

In near-eternal light

Save at the new of the moon;

Curtains are doubled to keep it out.

 

A day flies by

In a few hours

By the clock

And yet time drags

Upon a wearying populace,

Growing strangely jaded

About the ghosts among them,

Complacently accepting

Of the unwanted company

– for Amberites are nothing,

if not open-mindedly resilient.

 

And yet…

 

No one noticed the holes at first

Written off as a trick of fatigue

Here and there, like small coins

Fallen from a purse, at night…

 

At least until a small child

Touched one, curiously

And vanished.

 

Animals avoid them instinctively…

 

In fifteen short days

A quarter of the City

Is a Void

Like a bombed area

But without broken rubble or debris

Just huge gashes of black

With more missing people

Each morning.

 

The darkness lengthens…


	9. Worldfall

_(David Bowie, Diamond Dogs: ‘Sweet Thing/Candidate/Sweet Thing’ – yeah, it’s a haul, but listen, especially the beginning…)_

_(Enya, Amarantine: Less Than a Pearl)_

* * *

 

Chapter 8 – Worldfall

Sarah came back around quickly enough… to find herself tied to a wooden chair, with her arms bound behind it, her woolen cloak on the floor to her right, on a slightly raised wooden stage…

In time to witness Jareth – back in his more ‘normal’ clothing – standing at the edge, physically absorbing everything else that had been in the room, including the goblins!   It was all dissolving, melting down, _glowing_ like the fire-energy that it was; he was taking on that glow as he bodily sucked it into himself! Soon all that was left was the stage and the spotlight, in an empty, quiet rectangular black box!

There was no door now, either…

“Ah,” he exhaled in obvious relief when the process was complete, the ‘inner light’ fading already as he turned to face her. “That feels quite a deal better. That scene was surprisingly easy for me to manifest, but this power-style is a bit foreign-feeling; I must confess I’m still in the ‘learning curve’, you would call it. Not bad for a beginner, though, eh?” he impishly grinned down at her!

“Is there any particular reason you’re trying to give me heart failure?!” Sarah angrily screamed right in his face.

“Would you have voluntarily stopped to chat with a debt collector to whom you owed a great sum of money, when there was the chance that you might’ve been able to bail out by simply skipping town?” he idly put to her, her only response a furious glare.   “I thought not. And besides, your reaction wouldn’t have been so severe if you’d taken even a sip of your drink; there _is_ method to the madness, Precious.”

“Stop _calling_ me that! I owe you nothing – you’re not even the real Jareth!”

“Wrong,” he stalked closer, “you owe me everything! I risked myself to save your life! And now I am here to collect, as well as to earn a considerable bounty by turning you and your contents over afterwards, since you chose to dishonor our agreement.”

 _Who?!… oh, no._ “Jasra,” Sarah winced her eyes shut.

“You always were a bit slow on the uptake, but it’s almost admirable how you keep on trying anyway,” he only half-taunted, bending down to meet her eyes, resting his left gloved hand on his thigh as the fingers of his right brushed across the delicate blooms that still encircled her brow. “You even trimmed the present – how thoughtful,” backs of his fingers strayed down her temple, across her left cheek; Sarah turned her head, snapping her teeth at them, but he easily pulled his hand away, tisking. “I’m beginning to think I should’ve drugged you while you were out; that’s still an option if you won’t play nicely,” he commented with almost appalling casualness.

“How well do you play with grey barracuda-man aliens?!” she shot back. “A pod of them is probably about to break down the front wall any second now! Good luck on _that_ one,” she smirked bitterly.

“You will doubtless be relieved to hear that we are completely alone,” he purred in her right ear, making her uncomfortable for reasons she was uncomfortable admitting! “This room is flying to the Keep of the Four Worlds even as we speak, but the transit is hardly teleportation. We have _time_ ,” he uttered warmly with a suggestive smile, pulling back. “But why rush things? Let’s see what other goodies you’ve brought me.”

Sarah wasn’t certain whether she was flushed more from anger or embarrassment as he sat easily on his heels on the floor in front of her, the stance uncannily similar to Mandor’s, opening up her carryall bag. He carefully removed the bundled-up Dreamstone, stuffing it into his shirt-front after he’d unwrapped it to confirm it was the correct merchandise.   “Really, you should be grateful to be getting rid of the bloody thing; just using it has obviously taken a few years off your life-span already,” he confided with note of actual candor.   “Better for it to be in the hands of someone who can direct its pull to something other than their primal life-force.”   The rest was emptied out onto the stage: there went the water canteen, the newspaper with the theater listing, Ghost’s booklet, the carved caribou figurine – he ‘pocketed’ that one with the Stone, after ‘feeling’ it.

“Disappointing,” he pronounced, casting the bag aside. “I thought for sure you would’ve had a spell book or some other manner of magical apparatus-”

“The geography book!” Sarah suddenly blurted out. “And the amethysts! I – **!** ” she made an aggravated noise in her throat!

“Oh, dear me,” Jareth looked as if he were trying very hard not to laugh. “And when and where, pray tell, did you lose them, Precious?”

Sarah was of half a mind not to say another word as she glared daggers through him… but if she was going to have any chance of retrieving that priceless tome…

“My hotel room,” she ground out through her teeth, looking away, “under the mattress.”

He did quietly chuckle, then. “Of course, you weren’t thinking of being apprehended elsewhere,” he added a bit patronizingly. “Were any of those items truly magical?”

“No,” she sighed, “but the book was… a collection of shadow-maps, with ‘walking’ instructions.”  

His wild eyebrows shot up at that! “What language is it written in?!” he demanded, suddenly serious.

“Amberite Thari.”

Her unwanted companion rather unaccountably relaxed. “From what I have seen of your world, Earth-humans are a curious lot in general, but not terribly imaginative when it comes to certain things. When it’s discovered, they’ll likely think it merely an obscure art book, a collector’s item. It’ll be on the auction block before you know it, then inhabiting an antique bookshelf in someone’s private library for a couple hundred years, I expect, as the estate and associated properties keep getting handed down… unless someone decides to buy it for a university, with the outcome being almost exactly the same. I’ve no intention of attempting to go back for a mere curiosity, especially when the chances of it doing damage of any kind where it is are relatively low.   The semi-precious stones are mundane also?”

She nodded, pursing her lips in self-disgust.

He suddenly leaned forward, tracing them with his thumb-and-forefinger!

“Don’t do that unless you _mean_ it, love.”

“Stop it.”

“Am I making you nervous, pet? Your natural reactions hardly project physical revulsion… wait.” He had just noticed a bulge in the bottom of the bag that hadn’t caught his eye with all that bulk on top of it. “Is this what I…” He picked back up the carryall and reached in, carefully taking hold of the smallish, smooth object, slowly lifting it out, almost as if he were afraid to drop it: it was her crystal orb! “Where did you get this?” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes from it!

“Originally? From the real _you_ ,” she couldn’t resist rubbing in. “But it’s been through the Pattern trial with me; I’m not sure how it would work anymore. I’m frankly a little surprised that you can even touch it without it absorbing you on the spot, or something.”

“It works as they all work,” he answered, seemingly enthralled enough to have completely missed the personal digs, “as a single-use power item, one wish. This one’s not very powerful, though; I can only guess as to what it was formulated for. It won’t even get us to the Keep any faster,” he sighed. Then met her eyes over it. “Which, I must confess, suits me just fine,” he rested his left hand against _her_ thigh, dropping the now-empty bag aside, moving in towards her face…

“How are you here at _all_?” she suddenly inquired, trying to keep her voice from faltering, nearly succeeding.

“So _uncaring_ , Precious – we’ll have to remedy that. But the witch offered me conditional continuance, provided that I accepted this commission; _I_ wasn’t exactly in the position to refuse, either,” his lips brushed her cheek, his body too close as he leaned against her, but she shied away as far as she could, restrained as she was; he forcibly turned her back to face him. “There were also certain perks of the job that I found personally appealing.” He gave a sudden sharp laugh, startling her.   “What is it Earth-humans say, about being able to have everyone except for the one you truly want? Or is it every _thing_? Business,” he shook his head with a mocking smirk… but it wasn’t directed at her! “The lady’s not bad to look at,” he shrugged, “I might even humor her, but I’d be there in body _only_ , never fear,” he crooned knowingly, lazily trailing his fingertips down the side of her neck, lower, tracing…

“And once you’ve all had your fun,” Sarah spat bitterly, “do you _really_ think she’ll keep sustaining you? I know more about her than you do; she’s killed off lovers in the past, when having them no longer suited her! And those were real shadow-people! How long do you think it will take her to become bored with a solid hologram? Or before she tries to _reprogram_ you?!”

She involuntarily gasped a little shakily as Jareth leaned in, right next to her left ear, his wispy, trailing hair tickling against her collarbone!

“I’m sorely tempted to show you just how solid I _am_ ,” he murmured, his lips moving against the delicate skin… but he unexpectedly gave a dejected sigh, which he was somewhat amused to see raised the hairs on the nape of her neck automatically!   “But I’ll admit the thought has occurred to me, also. I fully intend to make the best of a tight situation, however,” he slowly kissed the back of her earlobe, down the side of her neck as his free left hand began to wander…

Sarah’s mind was reeling, and not just from the sensation! What could she possibly do to even stall him?! And almost more importantly, how could she ever hope to stop Jasra from tinkering with the Dreamstone, in all likelihood compelling her just to utilize it! Sarah felt more trapped even than she’d felt in that oubliette! She frantically cast around mentally for something, _anything_!

“The crystal!”

“Mmm?” He hummed tunelessly against her skin, drawing his face forward again higher, resting his forehead and the bridge of his nose against hers, gazing deeply into her pretty, panicked green eyes.

She could scarcely think with him doing that! “It… it had been a… peach,” she offered weakly.

“And a forgetting spell?”   He pulled back slightly, kissing the very tip of her nose. “I think that could be arranged, love,” he gave her a knowing little lip-smile.   “Do you want it before, or after?”

“That wasn’t what I _meant_!” she all but shrieked! “I mean… you _asked_ … it was an _edible_ spell, originally...”

“If this is an attempt at foreplay, you’re dreadful,” he answered levelly, removing her flower garland, casting it aside, “and if it’s an attempt to stall, it’s pathetic.   Is this vague conversational gambit actually going somewhere, or did you merely intend to circle the block as many times as I would allow?”

“You don’t have a backup plan, either!” she pressed ahead, undeterred. “We’re _both_ in the same boat, here only at someone else’s sufferance! Oh, why can’t you _see_ that?! Doesn’t it concern you at all?!   Aren’t you going to even _try_ to do anything about it?”

“I _was_ attempting to enjoy myself,” he sighed, “but I suppose I should let you get this out of your system so that you can better relax; we have over six hours before we reach the Keep… long enough to change your mind about me,” he traced the hollow of her throat with one finger. “I’ve _never_ used coercion. I’ll even play along, Precious, just to show you what a good sport I can be,” he knelt down before her, his lips quirked into a smile, wicked intent dancing behind his eyes. “Go on, make your case; you have my undivided attention _s_.”

Sarah took a deep breath that shuddered a little more audibly than she liked, wracking her brain for her Chaos-training; nothing would serve without the Logrus at her disposal, not even basic shielding spells! And her previous brilliant idea of using that crystal as her new power-object was clearly a bust; it wasn’t even strong enough to accomplish much of anything, at that! If only there could be more time to think! To plan! But if she was silent for much longer, he would interpret it as a forfeit and… oh, if only one of the gods would come and stick their proverbial finger in her ear and zap her with the… answer…

“Don’t tell me you’ve just figured it out,” Jareth commented, irritatedly waiting, watching her expression of dawning comprehension. “I swear you have the worst timing of any Earth-human I have ever met in my life.”

“… could you make a _different_ edible spell with that thing, if I talked you through the preliminary steps?”

“Possibly,” he replied guardedly. “That might depend upon what particular result you had in mind. I both understand and appreciate that there are certain spells which can be difficult to cast upon oneself, but if that’s the hang-up we can work around that easily enough without the extra trouble. Why would it even have to be in that form? If you want any further help from me, I expect full disclosure this time. _And_ extra… compensation, shall we say?”

“It has to be edible because we’d _both_ be eating it,” Sarah didn’t even deign to acknowledge where this arrangement seemed to be going, as far as he was concerned!

Jareth actually hesitated – then smiled. “You don’t think you can pull a fast one over on me quite _that_ easily, do you?   I’m going to require painfully specific information here before I’ll even consider it,” he commenced stroking her inner right calf through the woolen dress, his lithe fingers dandling about her knee.

“It’s… do you mind?!   You’re making it even harder to concentrate than it already is!” she exclaimed, flushing furiously; he grinned, but let go. “ _Thank_ you! Now… have you ever heard of something called the Chaosian Coiling Enlightenment Spell?”

“Alas, no, but it sounds fascinating – do continue.”

“It’s a spell that works only when someone is asleep: it sends a person through the winding corridors of the subconscious and sometimes even the unconscious – places that are usually closed off to the waking mind – in a lucid state, that is remembered upon waking. Sometimes it even bears the hallmarks of true psychic experience and learning, though the case-by-case results can be difficult to predict.”

“And you would intend to visit this upon yourself… and _me_?”

“I know you’ve already basically given up, but I can’t, and it’s not just for me! Don’t you _get_ that yet?” Tears were starting to accumulate in the corners of her eyes.

“The idea being to knock the answer loose in one of us, if there is one.”

She mutely nodded.

“How long does this spell take to expend itself?”

“Only about two hours max, in one abnormally long dream-cycle, which is remembered clearly upon waking,” she sniffed.

“And there are no aftereffects – hangover, and etcetera?”

“No after-effects.” _You cowardly bastard, you’re afraid of your own medicine!_

Jareth rose to his knees.   “And if there _isn’t_ a way out?   For both of us?”

“Then I’ll… beg Jasra for help myself,” she uncomfortably closed her eyes, unable to meet his.   “The real world’s apparently going screwy with this thing missing from where it belongs, and its starting to affect Shadow – you _had_ to have seen those ghosts who were in here before me!” she looked back at him. “I’ve no idea what will happen if this goes on for much longer, they’re so desperate to get it back! Even Jasra has to ultimately care about the overall state of Order; her world depends on it, too! You know, she might even be strong enough to go up against Dara, come to think of it, with the powers of the Keep to draw on,” Sarah suddenly mused aloud.

“Dueling sorceresses?   That sounds to be a good show,” he conceded, beginning to smile at the thought. “Alright, you’ve convinced me, I’m in. What needs to be done?”

It took Sarah the better part of fifteen minutes to describe the spell in detail to Jareth, step-by-step, incantation by incantation; the formula had to be altered to fit his own current brand of unusually unaffiliated, almost prana-like power.   Once it was determined to be both correct and finished, the construct was imposed within the crystal – no mean feat in itself, since the powers didn’t quite mesh; it reminded Sarah of those two electrical settings on a hair dryer, to be changed depending upon which country one was plugging it into. There was one tense moment when it seemed the crystal might shatter from the strain, but at last the deed was done, and Jareth set about adding his own finishing touches. When Sarah saw what it was turning into, though, she interrupted him midway.

“Can you make it into an apple or something instead? That last peach tasted awful.”

“It’s going to taste strange no matter what fruit it resembles; it’s not real food,” he explained, “merely a corporal container at best.”

“Just humor me.”

Soon a ripe-looking gala apple stood in Jareth’s fingers; he passed it under her nose so she could smell the luscious perfume. “There. Does this one pass muster?”

“Providing it works,” she was still eying it with slight apprehension.

“Of course it will work; these always do.” He was frowning, though.

“What is it?”

He didn’t immediately answer her, but to her surprise he untied the ropes that bound her ankles to the chair!

“If we’re not to be immediately separated in astral travel – which is what this operation suspiciously sounds like – then there needs to be skin contact between us, _lots_ of it, preferably intimate, but torso should suffice, close to major organs.”

“You are _not_ feeling me up my dress! … untie my hands, too,” Sarah huffed irritatedly.

Jareth eyed her with a high level of suspicion.

“I’m not going to shadow-walk out of here; I have no idea where I’d even run next, and I _can’t_ keep running. But if we have to do this… well… you already _have_ exposed skin,” she openly eyed his chest, revealed by his very-low-cut white poet’s shirt. “Would it work if I…”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he smiled congenially, walking around behind her, freeing her tightly-tied wrists, massaging them each in turn with his free hand (which, she noted, was now definitely ungloved,) kissing the pulse-point of the right one as she unsteadily came to her feet and turned around, still in his grasp.

A wine-colored, velvet chaise lounge had appeared behind them, just out of the beam of the spotlight, and she allowed him to lead her to it, doing her best to ignore the other obvious implications along with his bedroom-eyes, sitting down beside him.   Without any warning at all, he took her left wrist and made her place her hand upon the pale, bare skin of his chest over his heart, pulling her close, wrapping his other arm around her as he lay down, pulling her on top of him with a smile.

She wasn’t.   “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Of course not. This is a vision-quest… at least until we wake back up. Ladies first,” he held the juicy-smelling apple up to her lips.

 _Hold the phone – this is begging for date-rape! _She shook her head… yet took the apple. “Together. On the count of three?” she forced him to sit back up. He put his hand over her own upon the fruit as she turned it sideways, feline amusement clear in his eyes. “Well, here’s to saving the real Big Apple.”

“Here’s to your charming Snow White complex,” he quipped back.

“One…two…three!”  

Their faces came together, to the fruit, biting huge chunks out of it on opposite sides, the remainder discarded on the floor as they lay back down, quickly chewing, swallowing… the room was blurring, shimmering…

…warm skin, beneath her hands… smooth hands sliding down her back, through the neck-yoke of her dress…

… Stairs. She was descending a long, open, spiral staircase in a black void… no middle column, no banister… like yet not unlike that brief, unnervingly dangerous-looking flight in the Ways of Sawall, save that these rises were thankfully connected!

“A trifle heavy-handed with the obvious euphemisms,” she heard a cynical male voice comment at her back, and glanced over her shoulder: Jareth was walking just a pace behind! “Hopefully the scenery will improve once we get wherever this leads to.”

“Oh, take it easy, we’ve barely even started yet!” she exasperatedly rejoindered, looking where she was going again. “Although I’m wondering myself just what form this is going to take, with both of our subconsciouses conglomerately influencing what we’re about to see here.”

“Play it as it’s dealt, I suppose,” he shrugged. “I doubt anything that happens to one in a state like this really matters, anyway.”

The continued downward spiraling truly felt trancelike after a while; Sarah lost conscious track of where she was, who she was, what she was doing, the form completely taking over her mind… but eventually it _did_ end – which was something of a surprise when it happened – terminating in an endless greystone wall with an open iron gate…

Sarah shuddered in recognition, abruptly self-aware again.

“It can’t be,” she shook her head.

“It _isn’t_ ,” her companion calmly noted, walking up to and touching the near wall. “Do you feel anything?”

“No.”

“Exactly.   This is just mental furniture; with me along for the ride, this form is probably inevitable. Shall we?”

They stepped through, into the eerily familiar dank-and-mildewy, eternal-looking brick hallway – the one with the trick openings.

Sarah gave a humorless little laugh. “Well, this is your old stomping grounds. Which way do you think we should take?”

Jareth seemed to be considering the matter somewhat dubiously. “I strongly suspect that our way forward may be entirely arbitrary.   I’ll even bet that headtrip of a staircase is already gone. Nothing here exists beyond what we’re currently looking at.”

Sarah couldn’t resist a backward glance the way they came: he was right!

“We might as well follow opposite paths,” he continued, “so as not to interfere with each other’s revelations. You’re familiar with the branching path to the right; I’ll take the one to the left. See you on the other side,” he began to pace away.

“Wait!   Don’t…”

He stopped, turning back, the beginnings of a sly smile playing about the edges of his mouth.   “Don’t tell me you’re _scared_ , Precious – this was entirely your idea. I _wasn’t_ going to leave you alone, remember?”

“It’s just… if anything should go screwy here, we’ll probably be safer if we stick together.”

He was smirking as he strode back over to her, taking her hand.

“If I didn’t know better-”

“You do.”

They continued on in silence for several yards, then Jareth began testing the walls on either side with his free hand… then again further down… a hundred paces later… His hand never passed through.

“I think we’ve taken the wrong passage,” he finally commented, “perhaps we should attempt to go back and try the other-”

“Hold on a sec… does that vanishing point on the horizon look _real_ to you?”

Sarah advanced another seventy feet… and came face-to-face with a photo-realistic wall! Curious, she pushed against the edges; the left side swung open easily.

“Clever,” he muttered appreciatively, following her in-

-to a stone corridor, lined with Helping Hands holding thick tallow candles – mostly straight – at regular intervals on either side, a starless black void framing the tableau above!

But those walls were covered in mirrors: big, small, all shapes, all frames, glass tints, distortions even, in an equally never-ending parade!

“Enforced self-introspection,” the energy-double of the former Goblin King regarded himself in a thin, floor-length reflecting glass framed opulently in gold filigree. “If this was all you had in mind, I could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble and just conjured up a magic mirror.”

“This seems familiar to me for some odd reason,” Sarah studied her reflection in a sizable oval amid dark branches like a nest, “but I can’t quite place it; I’m sure I would know in an instant if I was awake. Something about having to look into all of them as you pass by.”

“A form of self-hypnosis?”

“Not quite. We’ll know when whatever-it-is happens, but it won’t right away. Come on.”

Regardless of its rugged appearance, the hallway grew comfortably warm as they continued on along it, studying the mirrors on either hand.

 _What is it about this place? Was it something I learned?_ Sarah was trying to remember, but it was so hard trying to concentrate on anything in here! _I must have… it’s almost like the art gallery in the Ways of Sawall… but…_

“The only way through here is through one o’ these mirrors!” a thick Scottish brogue abruptly announced from the right, making Sarah jump!

“That’s right!” a second Liverpudlian voice added.

“Ah,” Jareth stepped up to the white-and-sky-blue checked tall rectangular frame: within was one of the pairs of goat-faced guards in the Labyrinth that had reminded Sarah of playing cards, with the way the second one was sticking out underneath, hanging on upside-down to their heavy-looking heraldic rectangular shield!   “The truthful pair,” he mentioned aside to Sarah, “this might actually be worth something. Hello, Albert, Tom,” he greeted the images of his servants imperiously.

“Your Majesty!” they both straightened as far as that was going to happen, and saluted on cue.

“And it’s Alistair,” the upright Scot added sheepishly, ducking back behind his shield, peeking out from behind.

“Whatever,” the king callously brushed the matter aside. “Am I to take it that you’re here because you have something to tell me about this specialized labyrinth I happen to find myself in at the moment?”

“Ooh, yes, sire! We felt it our duty to warn ye we’ve _ne’er_ seen the like, have we now, Tim, lad?”

“Indeed not! This place is queer, is what! Practically _anything_ could happen!”

“You’ll be needin’ all your powers and your wits, sire! But ye must know what ye’er doing to be here; good luck to ye! And to your companion – the lass looks familiar…”

“Good day, then, Alphaeus, Jim – keep up the good work.”

“Long live Your Majesty!” they saluted in unison with the proper level of patriotic enthusiasm.

“His hearin’ ain’t right, that’s what,” Tim could be heard muttering as the pair vanished from sight.   Plain mirror again. Jareth glanced sideways at Sarah.

“Perhaps you might know what you’re doing after all, in this instance,” he grudgingly admitted, offering her an arm; she took it, continuing on. “We’d both best keep a sharp eye out… then again, if you set about looking for trouble lucidly in a place like this, you just might find it,” he ruminated.

“You do realize how incredibly rude and hurtful it is when you never get someone’s name right, don’t you?” Sarah suddenly felt the need to speak up, “especially when they’re loyal subjects like that?”

“ _You_ try keeping over five-hundred interminable creature’s names straight; some of them are only animal noises,” he shook his head. “Besides, it hardly matters, seeings as they’re not real people; the vast majority of them couldn’t even exist outside of the construct of the Fixed Logrus.”

“You’re not real, either,” she coldly pointed out.

“You just _have_ to keep harping on that point. One of these-”

“It would seem,” a familiar, cultured male voice interrupted him in Thari, “that the surest sign of a trouble-prone Patterner is that they all wind up traversing the Hall of Mirrors sooner or later.”

 _That’s **it!**_ Sarah thought in blank astonishment, suddenly looking around a lot more closely! The realization was a sobering one: the phenomenon had first been recorded as occurring on the fourth floor of Castle Amber itself, running between two walk-in utility closets, but the place seemed to have developed almost a mind of its own, appearing and disappearing on confirmed Pattern initiates in various localities in recent years, even in dreams like this one! And it certainly _was_ dangerous – the unwary truly could lose themselves mentally to the effects; there were a few well-reported deaths associated with the Hall!   But, if one was extremely careful (and lucky), the place could be of genuine prophetic value, referencing many minds for wisdom and insight, though whether that referencing came from within the viewer or the outside worlds was still up for debate, likely never to be resolved.

Sarah cautiously approached the black-painted one-by-two foot portrait oval anyway: it contained Mandor Sawall!

“Are you alright?” she uneasily queried him in Thari. “Did you…”

“Did I what, Sarah?”

“…nothing, nevermind,” she sighed, almost in relief; perhaps this phantom wasn’t aware of what had happened between them recently!

“You are making a very foolish and rash mistake, in thinking you can return the Dreamstone yourself,” he coolly continued. “You’ve already refused my assistance. My retinue will be waiting to intercept you at the Keep – yes, I know of where you are going; I’m even on relatively good terms with the sorceress who currently holds the place. But don’t expect me to openly help you again.”

His aspect was terribly cold!

“They why would you even come to warn me that you’re about to pick me up anyway, no matter _what_ happens here?!” she asked, scarcely believing how he was acting!

He blinked, and the ice in his far-apart eyes thawed by a single degree. “I would think this is just a manifestation of your subconscious wish for an idealized father-figure to come and clean up your mess for you.   You’ve lost the grace to ask me that.   Figure it out for yourself.” His gaze shifted, suddenly regarding Jareth with something akin to a sort of startled surprise. “How did _you_ ever get out of that Ways, to wind up here?!”

“Is that what you did with me? House-arrest?” Jareth suddenly laughed. “I’d wondered where I’d gotten off to – whether I was still unraveling psychologically in the web of the Fixed Logrus you’d set me up in, or whether I’d broken free. I choose to take this sending as a good omen, you congenial, blue-nosed bastard – that I can still catch you unawares!” he forcefully pulled Sarah away, striding quickly down the Hall!

“What did you do _that_ for?!” she wrenched her arm free of his grip, looking back… at empty rows of her own reflection in a bizarre collection of funhouse mirrors, all framed in a garish assortment of florescent pigments with polka-dots.

“He wasn’t about to help either of us, and it’s been ages since I’ve had the opportunity to give him a piece of my mind – gods, that felt _good_! How in the worlds do _you_ know him?! What was he to you?”

Sarah couldn’t meet his eyes, looking rather at the hundreds of reflections of the pair of them, and the reflections of reflections that surrounded them on all sides. “He was my tutor, in magic and other subjects.”

“You’re well rid of him,” Jareth noted seriously, reaching for her hand, gently taking it, “he’s far too duplicitous and untrustworthy. Take it from someone who knows.”

Sarah irritatedly plodded along after him in silence for almost a full minute-and-a-half, past chintzy junk shop broken mirrors and frames, interspersed with gold-flecked reflecting glass and rococo shell-patterns that could’ve come from a palace! But the way suddenly dead-ended in a glass wall; Jareth nearly walked straight into it!

“That shouldn’t be there,” Sarah observed warily. “Now what?”

“I can try to blast it open; stand back,” Jareth waived her behind him, letting go, the glow of his power beginning to coalesce around him. The barrier was so well-polished, the lighting such a uniformly warm, near-omnidirectional glow, that it had been completely invisible at only five feet away!   Glancing about, something decidedly unusual caught Sarah’s eye: a low trapezoidal-shaped mirror near the floor, framed with peacock feathers, showed not themselves and the section of the Hall that they currently stood in, but a different hallway altogether, running perpendicular, which, upon closer inspection was also lined with mirrors!

“Jareth, wait!   Look,” she pointed the anomaly out to him. Bright brows furrowing, he got down on his hands and knees to further examine it, reaching for the surface of the glass: there was none! He chuckled.

“Come along, then, Alice Liddell,” he replied wryly, crawling through the opening into the new section, Sarah following right after his boots.

Neither of them saw the animalistic stirring in the darkness beyond the wall of glass…

Standing up to explore, this section appeared to be much more like the outer corridors of the true Fixed Logrus, with the winding stone walls that ran in crazy configurations all over the landscape. Only these were peppered with mirrors – a rather striking sunburst one with crystal points was just around the corner, followed by a whole set of various glass-tints in mismatched frames.

“Sarah? It _can’t_ be…”

Sarah turned into a dead-end alcove to the left, following the direction of the painfully familiar female voice… and was faced with a vision of her own mother, framed in carved white roses, behind a faint pink tint!

“Mom? _Mom_!” Tears spontaneously stood in her eyes as she jogged up to the circular glass; to her amazement, her mother’s hand passed through the palpable barrier to hold her cheek! Sarah embraced it, kissing the warm palm, openly crying.

“No, don’t weep for me, sweetheart,” Linda Williams stroked her daughter’s brow with her slender, soft left hand, “everything’s alright; I’m happy where I am.”

“But I _need_ you so bad!”

“Oh, Sarah,” her mother sighed fondly, “you haven’t needed me since you learned to tie your own shoes and make yourself sandwiches. I was never much of a mother to you – I know that now – but you were always so determined and independent, and I didn’t want to stand in your way, trying to do everything for you. Doing things for yourself is how you learn.”

“That’s not the only kind of need there is! I needed you to _be_ there!” she sobbed. “Oh, Mommy…”

“I’m here now,” her mother said firmly, stroking her hair. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I…I don’t know that I can even explain,” Sarah sniffled, “but I might be in a lot of danger and I don’t know what to do!”

“Is the danger avoidable?”

She shook her head no.

“Then just do what you absolutely _must_ – and get out of the proverbial crossfire as quickly as you can. And try not to do whatever it was again; chalk it up to experience and move on… Oh, I miss you, too, but I don’t want to be seeing you joining me in this state any time soon.   Now go live your life and be _happy_. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Mom.   Forever.” Sarah reached through the barrier without thinking, hugging her tightly through the aperture, against it.

Jareth found her in the alcove with her eyes closed, in the process of sobbing them out, hugging herself, alone.

An unexpected warm hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder brought her to her senses – and upon opening her eyes she was bewildered to find the mirror empty! Had it only been a hallucination, then? She worked to bring her emotions to rein, suddenly self-conscious.

“You never told me,” he said quietly.

“When would it have come up?” she forced a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes dry with the heel of her left palm, turning back toward the obscurely zigzagging path.

Twenty long paces later there was a divide in the road that hadn’t been visible upon the approach; both sides appeared to be almost identical, ‘almost’ because no two of these mirrors were ever alike.

“Alright,” Jareth exhaled, “you pick this time. Which way are we going now?”

“…when you come to a fork in the road, _take_ it,” Sarah thought out loud, not certain why that odd quote had come to her. Why did this feel so familiar?”

“Pardon me, but the dream’s obviously getting to your lucidity faster than it is mine; you’re not making a whole lot of sense, Precious,” her companion observed almost with a touch of concern. “Perhaps _I’d_ better pick-”

“The passage to the right!   Come on!” she suddenly exclaimed, grinning broadly, pulling him after her! “I think I know who’s next, if only I can-”

“Well, well, didn’t think to see you around these parts,” an unfamiliar middle-aged scrawny/wiry man in sage’s robes that were covered in woven constellations, amulets and charms hailed Jareth down in a rather debased form of Thari. “Did Mistress Death finally come to lay your blackened soul?”

“Hardly, Rhom,” he approached the shrewd, dodgy-looking character, “though she might be laying my true body as we speak.”

The other cackled a harsh laugh. “Whatever you’ve been through, you haven’t changed for the worse.”

“You’ve not altered for the better.”

“Enough! Ask what you’ve come to oracle of me and then be on your way; Selene rises from her watery bed, to mount the night sky – soon I shall hold her and her powers in my _tender_ embrace,” he pantomimed holding someone, stroking long phantom hair.

“Any woman with a shred of sense would know to avoid _you_ , certainly a goddess – but go on, play with your powers, pretending they are not playing with you in truth. But as long as you’re here anyway, I’ll ask: if you had a priceless bauble fall into your lap but there was a considerable reward for returning it, what would you do?”

“Me? What kind of a reward are we not-quite-hypothesizing?”

“Not a financial one – something far more basic that might even be dispensable, the more I think about it just now.”

“Screw it – go find yourself a better deal: barter or sell the thing and take your hard-earned winnings and run.”

“What if it were something a bit more… Armageddonish?”

“Ask for more; run faster, party harder. What is it, if I may inquire? And who is that sweet little delicacy you have following you?” he eyed Sarah hungrily.

“None of your damn business,” Jareth muttered, shepherding his young companion out of the reach of an overt lech; the itinerant sorcerer had stretched his right arm out of the frame to touch her hair, but missed by a foot.

“Who _was_ that?” Sarah asked some yards later, metallic frames glittering about them in the candlelight.

“A man with whom I was once acquainted much earlier in life. I should’ve just kept right on walking; he was always a second-rate sorcerer and a fifth-rate person.”

“I’m sorry you don’t have better friends than that.”

Jareth just looked at her disbelievingly for a beat or two as they paced on, but he said nothing, eventually looking away at more mirrors. After a few more seconds, Sarah took the lead again, cutting across two perpendicular branching passages as if she actually knew where she was going, checking the right wall the whole time. Heavy stone frames – mirrors that were more like sculptures with a bit of reflecting glass in the centers – were coming up fast. One long, rectangular one had ornamental green-men spouting leaves in all four corners… and a fashionable doppelganger of herself was staring out of it at her!

“Whoa! Who the heck are you, and why do you look so much like me?! Am I dreaming?”

Sarah stifled her joy at getting to see Shara Wilkins again, thinking fast. “You are dreaming right now. I am the personification of your repressed creative side. The world is much larger, richer and more magical than you are consciously willing to admit, but you know in your heart-of-hearts that it’s true. The library is your friend.   Try trolling the school role-playing club for dates; a lot of the guys in those associations are just dying for the chance to be some girl’s knight-in-shining-armor, really sweet.”

“Since this is my dream, I guess I have to accept this – I took a psychology course in school last year for a sociology requirement; I know a little about Jung now. Hey, who’s the hot rocker dude?” Jareth had approached the frame out of curiosity, and was clearly now within her range of stimuli.

“Jareth, King of the Goblins, the personification of your desire, at your service, miss,” he reached through the barrier, taking Shara’s right hand by the fingertips and kissing them, making her giggle and blush hard! “Should you ever wish to see me again, all you have to do is-”

“Read lots of young-adult fantasies!” Sarah butted in. “You might actually like the Bordertown anthologies; they’re pretty new. There are punk elves in there.”

“Wow… um, _thanks_ ,” Shara laughed. “Bordertown, Bordertown… I think I’ll be able to remember that.”

“I know this is sort of an off-the-wall question,” Sarah added, “but… do you feel like you have any advice for me? There’s a reason I’m here; we can help each other.”

Shara couldn’t tear her eyes away from Jareth’s bright mismatched ones. “Don’t be afraid to flirt to get what you want. Man, I wish I could come with-”

“ _Sleep now_ ,” Jareth commanded, passing a hand across her face; as she faded from view – her unfocused eyes drifting closed – he turned back to Sarah. “If you don’t want me interfering in your plans in the future, don’t interfere in _mine_.”

“Oh, for-” Sarah finally just sighed. He was a certifiable nut, that was all there was to it. There was no point in trying to talk sense into crazy.

…twists and turns, shells and gemstones, beautifully cast gold and silver, hammered copper plating with rusty iron nails…

“Don’t go on!”

“Go back while you still can!”

“This is not the way!”

“Take heed and go no further!”

“Beware! Beware!”

“Soon it will be too late!”

And a whole hall-section of Phony Alarm rock-faces, all bellowing their gloomy forecasts behind glass at the same time in booming cacophony! Jareth openly laughed his head off all the way to the sharp turn in the hall where they ended!

“They’re a _very_ good sign,” he finally confided in Sarah with a wink once they were past them.

“YOU!” an anguished male voice roared!

Sarah jumped, clutching her chest, warily peering ahead with the sudden sinking feeling that perhaps the warning hadn’t been so superfluous after all… When she edged toward the filled glass – the frame tilted as if hung incorrectly, covered in white padding that instinctively made her nervous – she could scarcely believe her eyes, and her companion actually restrained her from stepping any closer as her eyes widened in comprehension, amazement, pity and terror:

It was Jareth!   The _real_ one! He looked haggard, with dark circles about his reddened, sleep-deprived eyes, his garments threadbare, his face shockingly gaunt! A wild sort of rage burned almost out-of-control behind his bright, mismatched eyes; he lunged for her beyond the glass, but his energy-double wrapped an arm about her chest, hauling her out of the way in time!

“You _ruined_ me, you pathetic little brat! Come, let me show you how I have changed,” a note of insanity crept into his voice as he beckoned; Sarah started moving toward him against her will, but her companion held her fast!

“I don’t claim to know what happened here,” her Jareth uttered calmly, fearlessly meeting his own gaze, “but we still had freewill the last time I checked. If there were ruinous choices to be made, that responsibility and guilt rests upon your own shoulders. Yours alone.”

“I would have never _done_ it! I would have bided my time-”

“We were going mad anyway,” the other roundly rejoindered. “Whatever happened obviously just hurried things along for you.”

“ _Mandor_!” Jareth shrieked in open terror! “I knew not what torture was! Losing my sense of self, my memory, living a half-experience, constantly distracted by interminable, hollow pleasures or drugged, _drowning_ in opulence-”

His double burst into laughter! “Oh, yes, that sounds like a truly terrible private hell! How many women did he grace our harem with? It doesn’t sound like such a bad way to retire!”

“To not know-”

“What came before?   What we went through for centuries?   A kindness… that is, unless you wake up from it, I suppose. How _did_ that happen, anyway?”

The former Goblin King glared daggers at Sarah.

“ _Oh_ …” his doppelganger quietly chuckled, stroking Sarah’s hair. “All right, Precious, what did you do this time?”

“I didn’t do anything! I’ve no idea what he’s raving about!”

“ _Think_. What all did you do with the Stone, when you unintentionally summoned me into existence? I’m not quite _that_ thick; I’ve known for some time now that it was accidental.”

“You want an accident?” his original threw a crystal at them, but his double countered it with a showy blast of fiery energy, exploding it before it could turn into anything!

“Think faster!” he urged Sarah. “I don’t want to be here with this one much longer!”

“I told you I don’t know!   All I…” She quietly gasped, realizing her terrible mistake, the fallout from a single charitable thought, a moment’s gratitude. “I wished him – you – well,” she winced her eyes closed.   “I would’ve _never_ dreamed-”

“You’ve never done anything _but_ dream!” the Jareth in the mirror rapidly shot back, starting to try to climb out! “By the time I’m finished with you, you won’t even know when you’re awake, let alone who you are!”

“Sarah, get back!” his double ordered her, shoving her aside, readying fire-filled crystals in both hands – but before he could throw them, his original threw one first! It ricocheted off the wall and into another mirror before turning into a huge boulder; it crashed through the glass with a rumble, but kept right on going, straight past and into the mirror just across the hall parallel, absorbing, vanishing! Her Jareth had fired his missiles effectively, however, knocking the other of himself back into the mirror – a hand shot out a second later, catching him by his long hair, literally hauling him off his feet, viciously dragging him inside!

“Catch!” she heard one of them yell just before she lost sight of him for a moment… and the bundle of fabric that held both the Dreamstone and her carved caribou was chucked back out of the mirror; the pitch was too high, too hard from being thrown almost blindly, and it sailed straight through the glass of another mirror, kitty-corner across the Hall!

“ _NO_!”   Her lunging grasp was a minute late and a mile short! The Stone was…

“Lose something, Patterner?” a deep alto voice inquired.

Sarah blinked and looked up, still hearing the sounds of the fracas going on behind her: standing in an inverted triangular frame of malabar carved into red flames, was the form of a feline-reptilian creature with protruding, serrated, razor-sharp jaw-fangs and ruddy-auburn fur! Yet the dark-brown eyes were startlingly familiar, as was the expression… A sharp-clawed ‘hand’ dangled the bag within the mirror before her teasingly!

“Fortunately for you, neither I nor my House have any enterprises that would benefit from inciting the end of the current way of things, but I know not what your own motives are – turncoat.”

“Gilva Hendrake?!”

The alien features lost their amusement. “Do not address me so informally, shadow-girl; we weren’t exactly on intimate terms to start out with. What is your intent with the Soul of the Eye of the Serpent, that you carry it about?” she demanded imperiously.

“To return it to its rightful place, in Tir-na Nog’th – I _guess_ that’s its rightful place at the moment.”

“And you are not working for either of the Orders in doing this?”

“Well, I’m working _for_ Order if I’m trying to restore things to the way they were – can’t deny that – but I’m not _taking_ orders from any particular power at present.   Does that satisfy you?”

Gilva gave her a rather stern sideways glance… but tossed her the bundle with a rueful smirk. “I am a soldier by training, not a prognosticator, but at least you had the courage to come here.” A sudden burst of colorful light erupted inside the mirror where the two Jareths were currently duking it out – one just dashed past the ‘window’, but Sarah would’ve been hard-pressed to say which! The stimuli caught Gilva’s attention also, and the demonformed lady slowly smiled, revealing the rest of her teeth, like a drawer of steak-knives! “You even had the decency to provide me some entertainment for my time and trouble – that’s a rather inept shadow-sorcerer battling an energy construct of himself, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m officially striking the Shadow-Earth colloquialism ‘things can’t possibly get any weirder’ from my future conversations from now on,” Sarah shook her head, watching in disbelief: was that a body-slam she just heard? Grappling skinny forms shot by again!

“My money would be on the construct; he seems to have limitless power at his disposal somehow.”

Real flames singed the top of the white-padded frame!

“Uh… have any idea what would happen in this place if one of them manages to…”

“It feels as if, if the man wins he will absorb the construct’s power, but if the construct wins he will take on the man’s corporality and personhood: win-win, I’d say. Who are you rooting for?”

Sarah sighed. “Both of them. Neither. I’m the reason they’re fighting, apparently… the energy guy,” she finally conceded, even though it still felt sort of terrible to say it out loud.

“Boys will be boys,” Lady Hendrake shook her head, arms akimbo. “Always remember that girls are better. But you still walk in danger; only a fool would go unarmed where you intend to. Here,” she loosened something below where Sarah could see… and offered her a heavy, sheathed rapier, pommel-first! The inch of exposed steel was dark, with a Chaosian damask-style design baked into the metal! “Go on, take it; I have many others. Wield it with honor in my memory. Be strong.”

“Your unbidden generosity will not be forgotten, Lady of Chaos,” a baritone voice resounded from further down on the left-hand side, “but it is not necessary. Wield it, rather, in the memory of this night.”

“Carl!” Sarah dashed toward… the exact silver-chased gaudy frame that had been around Prince Corwin’s portrait in the prison-shrine!   He just gave an irritated sigh upon seeing her.

“You’re too easily duped, kid,” he pronounced, crossing his arms. “If you’d been mine, I would have drilled a little more common sense into you by now. Haven’t you ever heard the old Shadow Earth Buddhist proverb: ‘If you ever see the Buddha, _kill_ the Buddha’? When someone shows up claiming to be God, you shoot first and ask questions later if they’re somehow still standing there intact afterwards! Guess that’ll have to be filed under ‘future reference’.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah sighed, not even questioning how he had known this, “but my trumps got destroyed years ago, and Merlin’s never given me another of himself; I couldn’t contact anyone while it was happening even if I’d wanted to!”

“I’d rectify that as soon as possible then, if I were you; grovel if you have to. The next time I see you, you’d better be carrying at least one. To be mixed up in _our_ business is usually the only lifelong affair any of us has ever known; just try to be careful so that life isn’t _short_.”

Sarah nodded. “I understand, I’ll try harder. …in case you hadn’t noticed, your grace is on display in the Hall of Mirrors,” she added awkwardly. “Was there anything you feel compelled to tell me? I’m not trying to be bossy or disrespectful or anything; it’s just what I’ve heard about the place.”

The prince – whichever version of the man he was – looked up and away thoughtfully for a moment.

“I think the Pattern Herself is going to be sending in reinforcements on your behalf – this is that important: it will be the only woman I would have ever trusted with my life, and a man whose honor I would have doubted in any lesser scenario – and that’s all you need to know,” he looked back to her. “Definitely trust the woman, but respect them both. I’d come myself, but I’m detained by my own affairs in Corwinia at present,” he confided with a sharp little glint in those impossible emerald eyes. “I can’t speak for my Pattern-ghost, however – yeah, you got the genuine article this time; he’s filled me in on you,” the prince suddenly smiled, shaking his head. “What _will_ those crazy, freewheeling Powers of ours think up next? Watch your front as well as your back – hell, go Amber-native and include all the cardinal directions as well as above and below in that trite warning.”

“Thanks. Any idea if I can turn up your son in here? I should probably be talking to him, too; he seems to be my liaison these days.”

“I believe,” a different male voice, coming from an oval rose-gold frame with hammered leaves, addressed her, “that you will find the current king of Chaos thirty-five mirrors down on the right-hand side, past the next turn. Avoid getting sucked into the tunnel, _if_ you can,” he added tauntingly with a devious smile. Red hair, red beard, with eyes like blue fire…

“Thank you, my lord,” Sarah replied to Prince Bleys as she paced past with a slight nod of acknowledged respect.

“Do not be so hasty to dismiss an oracle!” he called after her; she turned back, but he was already gone… and it finally hit her for the first time that she was _alone_ in here.   She almost shuddered at the thought – then thought of the Jareths again. One way or another, terrible as it was, he would be free at last; she could only selfishly hope that the one who wouldn’t be out for revenge would come out on top…

She gasped as the rest of the thought blossomed: how had he had the bag with the Dreamstone in it on his person in here in the first place?! That could mean…

“All is illusion, little shadowling,” an ancient voice rasped: it was Dworkin in a frameless distortion mirror that made his weathered old face unnaturally large! “Do not allow yourself to be troubled by the fact. Rather, think how it suits your advantage. That was the rest of Bleys’ message. Now, as one of my grandsons would doubtless remark, were any of them present, something is rotten in the City of Ghosts: be about your business quickly. I might even surprise you, with the end of this round.” His grin was ghastly, unnerving… but Sarah waited this time.   “What are you standing there gawking at an old man for?! Be off!” he irritatedly shooed her away, shuffling out of view, muttering to himself.

 _He never claimed to be God_ … Sarah mused, nervously fingering the Dreamstone, feeling her energetic connection with it even here. Alright. Somehow, at some level, this was real, she finally conceded to herself. She didn’t have to understand it; she just had to remain consciously aware of the fact.

Sarah suddenly remembered the other odd piece of advice… and started to count mirrors; she’d already passed four. Pacing along at a good clip, she was tallying on her fingers so that she wouldn’t be distracted into forgetting what number she was on. The frames were getting progressively more bizarre with each turning in the corridor – she had just passed one that was a miniaturized aquarium with tiny live fish swimming around inside!   Clockwork gears that moved and ticked, live moss moist with life, a collection of dried, bleached bones from some unknown animal, alien fur that was a deep-cobalt in hue – that one made her sneeze! This was ridiculous! And, repeated over and over and over, her face in various profiles, her hair, the green of her dress, the shading all a bit warmer in the soft, golden light. She was likely lucky to have had Jareth’s conscious imprint over this:   the true Hall ran in an eternal straight line, the monotony of the course eventually mesmerizing.

She hadn’t seen any faces for quite some time – could she be nearing the end? And once she was there, then what? Where the heck _was_ she?! Sarah was beginning to even doubt that her body was still in that black box of a room…

And what about Jareth?!   The contradiction hadn’t even occurred to her until just now! It was almost like…

Like being in that enchanted _ballroom_ – then waking up several miles from where she had passed out with that drugged peach! Darn him, this _was_ real! He’d formulated it wrong for it to just be a vision; his normal modus operandi with these obviously involved a transport spell!

Which meant she could be anywhere. Sarah hurried, zagging left three times before zigging to the right twice. She had to find Merlin: somehow everything would be all right as soon as she located him!  

_…27…28…29…_

There was a veritable congregation of whispering coming up, a flowing rushing sound like wind or water, indistinct yet becoming slightly clearer as she drew nearer. When she finally saw where it was coming from, she literally sank to her knees: there was an absolutely gigantic, high stone-vaulted perpendicular corridor that ran on as far as the eye could see in both directions, well-lit with long rows of cut crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, reflecting rainbows sparkling everywhere along with the beautiful light – not dim like the open-roofed Hall she had been passing though!

But, impressive as it was, this was not the main thing that Sarah had reacted to: the walls were covered with scads of mirrors from ceiling-to-floor… and they were all filled with different images of _her_!   Some of the scenes that she could make out in the left corridor instantly brought happy tears to her eyes: she was younger in them – a child – and her parents were still together!   The reflections were all things that had happened to her, with her! There was a carved inscription in the white marble flooring, in a beautifully flowing Thari script, embossed with gold: ‘Reminiscence Joyous’ it would have translated in idiomatic English.   Beyond that was a plush red runner-carpet that had never been trod by anyone, brand-new, waiting for her!

Tearing her eyes away, she forced herself to look down the other… the result of which was almost even more emotional! That one’s inscription read ‘Hopes and Dreams’ (or rather, literally, ‘Dreaming Hope’), the carpet runner a pristine white! Images of her getting married, of being on the stage, of traveling to luxurious far-flung locales, of being a mother: it was simply too wonderful, like looking at a photo album of what was going to come to pass in one’s life! The flagstone Hall she had been traversing seemed so plain and uninspiring by comparison! The only thing that kept her from instantly running off into one of them, doing ecstatic cartwheels along the way, was the fact that there were _two_ of them: she was completely torn as to which way to take first! Every last happy memory she had ever had – some likely even forgotten – or every happy thing that could possibly happen to her for the rest of her life?!

For the rest of her life…

The sheer size, the enormity of the display she was looking at, was suddenly daunting. It could take a very long time to examine all of the images closely and thoroughly, to properly appreciate and enjoy the exhibit.   Months, _years_ maybe.   Especially the vaulted tunnel to her right, with all the years of life she likely had ahead of her…

The tunnel.   She blinked; Bleys’ mocking, halfhearted warning was ringing in her ears – don’t get sucked down the tunnel! The simple fact that she couldn’t see the end on either side seemed vaguely menacing now that she was thinking in this manner, knowing that unlike the near-immortal princes and princesses of Amber that this ‘show’ was finite.

Perhaps her eyes or her mind were playing tricks on her at this point – more likely than not, really – but for a second she thought she saw just the tiniest bit of _black_ … flowing, shifting position, far down the right-hand tunnel… a teensy reflected silvery fingernail against the white, like a _scythe_ …

_Is that Death?_

Sarah got up and _ran_ , past the breezy, talkative, sinisterly pristine tunnels, heaving a huge sigh of relief once she was around the bend, surrounded by plain tan flagstones and empty reflecting glass and its bizarre menagerie of frames once again!   That way lay not enlightenment, but rather an overtly indulgent and selfish denial of the present, the results of which were potentially lethal! Sarah still had her memories and dreams; she didn’t need a museum to call them to mind any time she wanted. And that future couldn’t be real at all unless she continued to exercise her freewill, to make choices that would _make_ it happen!

… and in the process of this inner and outer seductive temptation and personal turmoil, she’d lost _count_ , darn it!

“It’s gotta be one of these,” she thought aloud, carefully pacing along, “now, which…”

She forgot to breathe:   one of the hand-shaped candle holders reached out straight to point forward at a particular frame to the right-hand side, wax guttering on the stone flooring in the process!

“Thanks,” she whispered as the thing straightened itself, the excess wax dripping down the side into a cup at the base.

Warm brown eyes, full of rueful concern, a half-hearted quirk of a smile framed by dark-brown hair and a well-kept mustache-and-beard, which was in turn framed in black-and-purple snakeskin, faded behind gray-tinted glass…

“You don’t have to tell me, Sarah; Dad’s already given me an earful,” Merlin sighed. “If I were just an Amberite duke – which actually _is_ one of my lesser titles – I would have no problem with you having an easy-to-use trump of me, but I’m afraid my old man doesn’t appreciate my position here, both personally and politically. Having ones ‘contact cards’ floating around with known defectors is a sure-fire way to find a Chaos-blade magically planted in one’s kidney when you’re the king. I’ll have to work out some manner of emergency contact for your end of things, though; if Random wants someone to blame, you can point at me for negligence this time.”

“…do you know about Mandor?” she winced, feeling like a tattletale in spite of how serious the implications were.

The king of Chaos took his time to answer, suddenly looking about fifty years older as he studied her, no longer smiling.

“I shouldn’t be this reluctant to censure him for this dangerous of an unauthorized gambit, but…” he looked away. “I’m not sure how much of this I should tell you, but for as independent and self-directed as my older brother seems, I suspect that Lord Suhuy has been… _using_ him, for many years – possibly even most of his life, without his knowledge.   If I indict Mandor, and by proxy my uncle, if Lord Suhuy’s level of involvement in the struggle of the Logrus and the Pattern is made public, it would be analogous to admitting to the continuation of what basically amounts to a ‘cold war’ between us and Amber, which would be disastrous for the Concord and our mutual trade agreements, to say nothing of the general peace. I know only too acutely what it feels like to know that you only exist so that someone else can play with you; Mandor knows something of his predicament now, but I think he still doesn’t suspect the full magnitude of his situation.   And maybe it’s the sentimental weakness of my Order-blood, but I don’t have the heart to _tell_ him. I was always sort of an outcast at home; I grew up not fitting in, not thinking I had any right to anything in that society – and I was basically okay with it, because I expected it. But something like this would _break_ my elder brother’s pride, his confidence in his considerable intellect and powers that he has spent so many centuries in cultivating. It isn’t good policy, but I would rather resolve this matter as quickly and quietly as possible, especially considering what all has been happening to Amber herself in the interim; any mention at all of rogue Chaosian agents would cast the affair in the light of an act of deliberate domestic terrorism, which would prompt immediate retaliation on Amber’s part, an opening salvo to a second full-out war, which, as far as I’m concerned, neither side can afford.”

The thought was stunning, that Dara’s motives had run so politically deep… which indicated, from what Sarah had been taught, that there were some pretty powerful Chaosian lords backing this move, possibly even using the lady’s apparent need for revenge as a blind for a far more dire operation in the field!

Merlin looked as if he had just read her thoughts; he nodded grimly with a slight facial expression of disgust. “And my going in person to raise her blockade on the ghosts would be tantamount to admitting the same.   You’re going to be in good hands once you get there, Sarah, but I have to transport you. Even in this I will not force you against your will, no matter what anyone else involved wants. Are you willing to undertake this for us?”

For a single moment, Sarah nearly faltered… then the coldness of her Chaosian psychological conditioning reasserted itself under the extreme pressure, and she impersonally reminded herself that this _wasn’t_ a real choice, just an unfortunately necessary concession to her potential physical and mental weaknesses as a mere shadow-being…

_Be strong..._

“I’m ready to end this,” she gave him answer, suddenly feeling like a true adult for the first time in her life. “Are you going to just zap me where I need to go with your ring, or were you going to utilize the Ghostwheel?”

“Actually, I had something far more subtle in mind, something my mother might not be expecting; it should at least give you the advantage of surprise, however brief.   Would you have any objections to using the mirror? Does visual distortion make your stomach turn too easily, or would you be fine with it?”

“… I guess it might be okay, if it doesn’t take too long.”

“All right, that’s a reasonable answer. In that case, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,” he gestured toward the pale oval lavender mirror just opposite the pentagonal frame he currently occupied:   a very pale yet beautiful young woman with long, straight black hair, wearing a deep-red dress, stood there; upon seeing Sarah, she smiled – revealing the fangs of a vampire!

Sarah must’ve looked startled before she could repress the knee-jerk reaction.

“Sorry about that, Merlin,” the lady apologized promptly, a little embarrassed, “I’m merely excited to be able to help you with this. A moment.”   She closed her dark eyes, concentrating; the fangs receded to normal-length canine teeth! She looked at them both expectantly.

“She’s safe to be around, Sarah,” the king of Chaos added, “human blood isn’t in her diet, just things that go bump in the night. Rhanda, allow me to introduce you to Sarah Williams of Shadow Earth,” he rested his hands on Sarah’s shoulders a moment. “Rhanda and I have known each other since we were very little kids.   Go with her; she knows the way,” he gave her a gentle little shove, as the young woman held her nearly-white right hand beyond the barrier of tinted glass in a receiving gesture.

Sarah forced herself to breathe as she crossed the short space that lay between, and took it firmly, feeling the world swim around her for a moment before her vision settled again… sort of: the world she had come into was a place of twilight and odd angles; gray buildings towered in the distance, people who were difficult to discern clearly walked the tilted streets, or spontaneously rose into the air and vanished, as they took hold of the thin, dark bands of something that blackly waved and wavered in middlespace, the distance empirically impossible to determine!   She clutched Rhanda’s cool hand tightly, afraid of what visual dimension she might fall into if she let go! The lady reached up and grabbed one of the black lines – and it appeared to open up as they flew through it… into another shadowy city, the dim skyline different! Crooked streets, barely enough light to see by; the silence was simply oppressive, alien. So few people…

The black lines engulfed them many times before they appeared in what might have been the only thing that could’ve rendered their current prospect any more macabre: a ruined old cemetery of sorts. Passing through the open iron gates, picking their way around broken tombstones and eroding funerary statuary, they approached an elaborate mausoleum with a walking garden bereft of life, yet ornamentally pleasing to the eye with sculptures. Entering, walking down a short flight of stairs, down the close corridor past intermittently filled walls inscribed in a language Sarah couldn’t read, they reached the end of the dim passage; there had been no change in the light-level from the outside to the inside – in fact, there was no visible source of illumination anywhere!

There, behind a beautifully-carved stone sarcophagus, topped with a life-sized sculpture of an armored man lying in state, clutching the hilt of his drawn sword in both hands with the foible pointed down toward his stony boots, was a wall-large mirror, spangled with flakes of imbedded silver Sarah guessed from the color… or perhaps this world was simply flooded with color in the infrared spectrum and she merely lacked the physical components to enjoy it!

“Just through there,” Rhanda whispered, gesturing, letting go of her. “You will be met quickly on the other side. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Sarah whispered back, taking a deep breath, bracing herself for the odd sensation; she took one long stride through the thickly membranous barrier…

… and found herself coming out of a shattered-yet-standing mirror set into a wall behind a raised sarcophagus – but the lighting conditions were so much better on this side, and she was certainly no place underground! Sarah smelled fresh growth, of an intensity native only to-

Amber! She was in Corwin’s cenotaph! Noiselessly tiptoeing forward, she beheld the prince’s ‘death mask’, set into the reclined statue, meticulously carved out of a flawless white marble; she couldn’t resist touching the face…

“He’s always been sort of handsome like that.”

She jumped, her eyes darting – but a tall, black-haired, black-enamel-scalemaille-clad woman stepped out from the shadows, armed with both a bow and a quiver of arrows, as well as a small battle-axe slung at her belt! In spite of the medieval weaponry, Sarah almost collapsed in relief:   definitely _not_ Dara!   There was something almost unspeakably regal about the stranger, and a great tragic sadness filled her beautiful blue eyes.

“You have the item?” the woman huskily whispered in Thari, approaching the sarcophagus from the other side.

“Maybe,” Sarah whispered back, taking a step back. “Are you who I’m supposed to be meeting? Or should I just start blasting away?”

The woman’s smile was reminiscent of the Mona Lisa. “Wisdom learned late is better than wisdom not learned at all. I am Princess Deirdre Barimen. And you would be?”

“Sarah Williams, of Shadow Earth,” Sarah automatically dropped a curtsy, really bewildered now:   wasn’t this lady supposed to be _dead_?!

“And many other places, I’m sure. Sarah of Shadows,” she uttered experimentally – in British English! “It has a nice ring to it in your language,” she resumed her own native tongue. “Normally I would like to chat longer with anyone whom I have just become acquainted, but we don’t have much time before my brother’s former love learns that we are here, and the moon above the True City is already near half-spent. My other brother will provide cover as we retreat, and I will be with you to protect you, should it prove necessary. Come.”

Without any warning, steel-encased fingers closed over Sarah’s, and she found herself being force-marched out of the open-air mausoleum, out into an otherwise gorgeous if chill Amberite night, with that true velvet midnight blue covered in so many diamond-like stars that it still didn’t look real to her!

Up the remainder of the mountain then, the moonlight garishly bright, through the spruces, then above the tree line – silent as one of those green tigers, the princess, Corwin’s blood-sister, lovely and strong; Gilva would have approved. She was so mindful of the path she trod, watching for rocks and roots, giving her young companion’s hand little warning squeezes so that she wouldn’t trip over anything. The lady was tireless, never slowing for any reason at all…

 _But she fell in Patternfall_ , Sarah couldn’t stop thinking; Deirdre Barimen had accidentally been pulled after Brand into the Abyss! _…or she’s a Pattern-ghost,_ she finally realized belatedly: the Pattern’s reinforcements – easy enough to generate them on this end, so close to all of its iterations!

On they dashed, hand in hand, over long wild grasses and around low shrubbery and jagged rock outcroppings… but there were flashes of light coming up, near the summit – unnatural colors, in explosion-like bursts…

A stroke of real lightning fell from the clear heavens! Sarah was both blinded and deafened for about a minute – but found herself hauled to her feet by the princess and dragged on before her senses could even recover! More lights, and acrid smoke…

As they achieved the broad summit, Sarah’s eyes widened involuntarily: a bright-violet goat-beast and a man in red and black Renaissance garb were engaged in a sorcerous duel! A red-glowing funnel cloud was howling away in the distance up in the night sky – not near them – but each combatant kept blasting away at the other in their own unique methods! The ground about them was scorched and torn up in places; there was a big pile of sand over there! The man had excellent reflexes for a non-Chaosian, but it appeared that his chief defense was a force-field that glowed slightly red…

 _He’s using the Jewel of Judgment!_ Sarah realized in astonished fright as she and the princess quickly crept up on the pair, behind the demonformed goat… that could only be Dara Sawall! Certain Chaosians were recognizable in any form, she had been taught – by their actions. The black-haired, incredibly handsome man had been inching closer to his enemy in spite of her myriad attacks, any of which would have reduced him to a mound of ash without that layer of protection!   She was throwing everything at him except the kitchen sink (probably only because she didn’t know what one was) but the goat-figure paused before the next strike… and spun on them!

And was instantly paralyzed by the Jewel! The redness had conferred over to her! The funnel cloud drew nearer, chugging away like a freight train!

“What in the worlds were you waiting for?!” the man angrily thundered at the princess as they warily approached; Sarah could see that Dara was trying – and failing – to shapeshift in there! “I was almost getting fried up here!”

“You acquitted yourself splendidly, Eric, as always,” Deirdre carefully praised him, tactfully turning his adrenaline-pumped ire aside. He glanced in passing at Sarah, and she instantly lowered her eyes and sort of bowed: one respected dead kings – even one as megalomaniacal as Eric Barimen – when they came back to defend their lands from evil. “Do we have time to mount the stairs and get up into the City before _that_ arrives?” the princess nodded upwards.

“I’m not about to slow it down for you; this demon-lady’s damn slippery to hang onto! Why couldn’t Corwin have just stayed with that common whore he’d fallen in love with back in Benedict’s world?”

“We don’t have time for this pettiness,” Deirdre quietly reprimanded him. “Sarah, you know the way – get going! I’ll be right behind you momentarily.”

“Wait,” the prince pointed at Sarah with his free left hand, his right one still clutching the Jewel, “bring it _here_. Let me see it.”

“No!” his sister protested. “We’ve no idea how it will react in the presence of the Jewel of Judgment! You wield the true one’s power even now – I beseech you, for your own sake, be content!”

“I just need to _know_!”

“It’s only a big opal,” Sarah offhandedly interjected – then took off straight up the ghostly staircase with such speed it was like dashing up a moving escalator four risers at a time, leaving the bickering siblings far below on the rocky mountaintop, night’s splendor turning to almost daylike brilliance as she approached the gateways to Tir-na Nog’th! But there was the back-reflection of a red flash in the mist, and she dared a quick glance downward in the direction of the stone stair: Dara was gone – but so was Eric! And where had the whirlwind vanished off to? She hadn’t even heard it!

“Run! To the Castle!”

Deirdre was pounding up the stairs, with open panic in her bright eyes! Sarah needed no second bidding to take to her heels, achieving the platform, passing the gate, dodging the shadowy pockets of void on her way up to the fortress – it was like someone had taken a bazooka to what passed for ‘reality’ in this place! There were huge, gaping holes in the fabric of existence simply everywhere, rendering even wide streets a veritable obstacle course, to keep from falling through!   And where were all the people?!   This city might have been only a facsimile of Amber, a pantomime of the True City far below, but it had appeared to be just as bustling and populous as its corporal counterpart before! It was a true ‘ghost town’ now! The quiet felt deathly as it hadn’t before, the muffled sound of their boots beating against the unlit cobblestone streets barely making a dull thudding noise… Past empty, vacant stalls in the market…empty shops… empty houses: where had everything gone?! Sarah fought back tears, hoping against hope that she wasn’t too late, fearing that she _was_ ; a second later the princess caught up with her, catching her right hand again, her long sable hair flying out behind her, shining in the starkly garish, grey light…

…up the Concourse, dodging holes, up the causeway to the Palace, deserted, up, up, up… The portcullis was raised as it normally was during peacetime, but there were no guards as they passed through the reinforced open doors of the front gate.   They entered without any resistance at all, through the ajar double-front doors; the carving of the Unicorn that covered both had been viciously effaced by some sharp object, the effect chilling as a murder… Colorless tapestries and collected weapons flew by as they tore down the main hall, ducking through a hidden panel, down a thin side-passage to the left, stealthily mounting a thin stone staircase in the dark, turning right, up one of the servants’ passages to the second floor, past the open-walled lower sections of extremely long beveled windows, toward the musicians’ loft in the Great Hall-

The full-color figure of a red-headed man in a very old-fashioned green riding suit stood at the top of the flight, barring their way forward! Deirdre instantly came up short with a shudder and a gasp!

“And thus the sacrificial lamb greets her executioner,” Prince Brand blithely quipped in ill-greeting, leisurely stepping down a couple risers toward them. “Alas, your life is not mine this night, sister – perhaps another time; a different set of actions is foreordained.” His unearthly green eyes lit upon Sarah… and he genuinely smiled!   “It was a goodly attempt, to be sure, at destroying this place and the one below it, shadow-agent, and I commend you.   You led them all on a merry chase for weeks! But a compromise has been reached, one that I never thought the Mare would make: behold the future king of Tir-na Nog’th!” he gestured grandly to himself! “And as such, I will naturally act to defend my new kingdom, to set things to rights.” He suddenly laughed. “Every godlike being has need of a traitor from time to time, it would seem, to make the stories more interesting, more complete. I am the Pattern’s chosen Judas, and shortly I will oppose the ‘rightful’ king with her blessing, or at least with her blue eyes averted. Any more philosophy than that will cost you in blood. But first give me the Dreamstone – it is all right,” he extended his open right hand toward Sarah, palm up!

Sarah was simply dumbfounded; his expression at the moment was completely open, non-threatening – honest! She uneasily glanced askance of the princess, who appeared to be weighing the matter far more seriously, frowning in clear disapproval… yet she nodded!

“Do it. Let him find his end in this place.”

“Again and again, lady!” he taunted her. “With or without your help! Neither of us can die now, not so it _matters_!” His speech was speeding up as he uttered this in a clear fit of exultation, his eyes wild. Manic. “ _Quickly_ , girl!” he barked at Sarah.

Fumbling nervously, Sarah extracted the heavy chain and what was attached to it, untangling it from the little carved caribou antlers, gingerly holding it out, her eyes uncertain, questioning. More than a little frightened…

The prince greedily snatched it from her fingers – he could hold it! – and immediately thrust the silvery chain over his head… exhaling, relaxing, closing his eyes as a beatific smile swept over his features: he was glowing with a white light, from within! Clasping the Dreamstone in his left hand, he opened his eyes – the irises blazing Arden Green, like two lit jewels – as he quickly drew the sword at his side and raised it high: the liquid-gold Pattern tracery upon the legendary blade Werewindle blazed like the sun, outshining the brightly cold moonlight beating in through the windows!   Sarah couldn’t help thinking he looked like the Magician from the Major Arcana, as she squinted hard, her eyes watering from the strain; he should’ve had a glowing infinity symbol floating over his head in lieu of a halo! A split-second later, a shockwave emanated from the blade, brightening and _coloring_ Tir-na Nog’th in its wake; in moments the Great Hall was alive with light – and solidity!

The prince casually lowered the weapon, looking as if he were about to sheath it again, when Dara Sawall stormed into the Hall from the main entrance with murder in her eyes!   Black lightening flew from her hands – all three of them had to duck behind the low barrier wall to miss it!   Brand appeared more amused than irritated or surprised by her presence, however.

“She just doesn’t know when to give up, does she?” he laughed, in high spirits. “It shows she’s related, damn Benedict’s fertile balls!   He ruts once and healthy children instantly fall from the lady’s womb! I had to lay my wife for _years_ before she could even conceive! The lady down there must be tired, though; she’s taking her sweet time about reloading,” he mockingly remarked.

It felt strange, but in this moment – of seeing Brand almost happy like this – Sarah _did_ think of ‘Luke Raynard’, of what he had said about missing the better times with his old man. Before she could lose her nerve, she touched his left arm to get his attention: yikes, she _had_ it!

“I just… wanted to tell you that your son, King Rinaldo of Kashfa, still _loves_ you. He never _stopped_ ,” her voice almost broke on her; she had to swallow.

Brief emotion flashed by behind those unnaturally bright eyes… but it was quickly replaced with a devious little lip-smile. “You are both free to flee like mice as soon as it is convenient to do so; I have known that creature yonder since she was but a girl of ten years. I can take her alone; I have no need of your axe, sister,” he added teasingly.

“Don’t be so certain,” Deirdre warned him, “she’s already made it past Eric _and_ the Jewel!”

“Eric is a _moron_ – all brawn and very little brain,” he fearlessly stood up in clear view!   Sarah could _feel_ the force-field emanating from his body as he quickly strode away from them, across the musicians’ loft, running easily down the two short flights of stairs down to the ground-level! “Come out if you want to play with me, little niece!” he rashly shouted, glancing about for her, for she had vanished.

Dara dropped on him from above in a winged demonform! Brand quickly wrestled her to the floor beneath him, rapidly spitting the beginning out a Chaosian incantation for paralysis – one Sarah recognized as The Convenient Coat Rack – but she raked his left arm with her talons, breaking his concentration, and teleported away, her form flowing; he blasted her with a rainbow of raw power the split-second before she vanished! When she reappeared again, she was across the Hall, panting, humanformed, wearing a bright-red blouse and black riding pants and boots, drawing a saber with a serrated black blade!

“Ah,” he saluted her with his own rapier, “so we are down to this business already. I suppose I could be induced to provide you with one final lesson, although the cost to you will be a high one this time: you have chosen an opponent you cannot even _bleed_ ,” he displayed his left arm as he paced out to meet her – even the tears in the fabric of his coat-sleeve were gone! “If this is truly the end that you desire, then by all means let us see how much you remember from your favorite uncle – oh! Forgive me! I forgot; that title falls to _Corwin_ now,” he cattily baited her, striking an en garde; she copied.

“I shall take great pleasure in ridding the Logrus of even the ghost of so _weak_ and ineffective an agent!” she barked bitterly, her voice hoarse from exertion, commencing the attack.

The glowing prince parried and feinted, matching beat for rapid-fire beat of her blade, pressing her in a leisurely advance down the open aisle between the long trestle tables, throwing in the occasional thrust almost seemingly for fun – knowing full well that time and stamina were on his side, that the lady was practically running on the end of her batteries, so-to-speak, mostly upright on adrenaline more than anything else; she had already been reduced to fighting with raw Chaos power, which was dangerously draining if indulged for too long – and they both knew it.   His opponent suddenly got through his tierce guard in a complex feint-beat-feint combination, resulting in a highline stab to the shoulder, fairly deep… but it healed completely in three seconds flat, even the fabric mended, just a spot or two of blood to show it had happened at all; Brand laughed aloud as he felt it! “You’ll have to do better than that, niece!” he feinted, beating her blade thrice in high guards before making a devastating lunge to the abdomen that Dara had to literally vault backwards to avoid landing!   She continued her measured retreat back toward the fourth trestle table, pausing to grab one of the heavy dining room chairs, hurling it at his head! He caught it single-handedly, carelessly dropping it aside upon the stone floor with a resounding thunk… and grinned: she had taken to the tabletop!

“Were you only looking for a suitable _piste_? The surface might be sufficiently level, although I doubt it is regulation length and width,” he jumped up to join her, resuming right-of-way – only she immediately _advanced_ , hoping to trip him at the edge; he grabbed the wicked bare edge of her blade near the forte with his naked hand and yanked hard to the right, throwing her off balance! She stumbled and fell to the floor, rolling, barely missing hitting her head on the tiles; his hand completely healed before she could even regain her footing, as he jumped back down! “Those rules just might exist for a reason, thou child,” he openly taunted her as she fumed; she charged back at him, her blood finally up enough to respond reactionally rather than rationally, but he held his ground rather than move, easily turning her thrust aside with an incorrectly twisting seconde, spinning her, almost spraining her wrist in the process!

On it went, back and forth…well, mostly back, on Dara’s part; it was only too clear now that she had to plan her thrusts _very_ carefully – anything less than a deathblow would have no effect whatsoever, and she altered style accordingly, dancing out of the way of his thrusts, always striving to keep her ripostes in low-line, aiming for vital organs only! In the process her own guard was beginning to suffer; he’d nearly nicked her earlobe a moment ago! She tried for a head-cut unsuccessfully, counter-parried in quarte, feinted another highline, then disengaged, lunging for his guts – only to incur a long slice along her sword arm!

The metallic racket continued as Deirdre and Sarah crept back down the thin staircase, past the turn, almost to the ground-level back hallway… but a familiar voice arrested Sarah’s movement, and she couldn’t resist dashing back up to the gallery to peek over the edge!

“What’s this bloody racket in my palace?!”

The form of Mandor Sawall angrily burst in from the main hallway – wearing Random Barimen’s fiery heraldic colors, his hair a Nordic blonde like it must’ve been originally!

“Just ridding your land of a demon,” Brand shot back gaily, not missing a beat of Dara’s blade, “a service which you shall shortly be recompensing me, with your crown!”

“Like fun you are!” the king drew his own rapier, advancing upon pair of them as they danced nearer!

“Priorities, friend, priorities!” Brand responded, feinting to his opponent’s chest and head, then going for her arm again, slicing the fabric upon her right bicep but not flesh!   “She’s first, but I upon my word you are next! Unless you would care to help me, to speed up your time in queue!” he continued to parry and disengage, deliberately alternating high and low defenses to wear down her injured arm faster; the blood from her previous wound had begun to smoke!

“Guards! _Guards_! Down here right now, like I _pay_ you!” the king yelled, carefully watching the duelists, waiting for an opening! In seconds, the sound of many boots hammering against stone floors and the jingling of scalemaille armor could be heard in the main hall!

“I’m no demon – _he_ is!” Dara suddenly shouted, remising from a parry in quarte, counter-parrying quinte, and riposting to the head, missing the eye she’d been aiming for purely as a temporary distraction! “Can you not see Brand the Destroyer in your own palace?!”

“And I shall cherish the title!” the prince crowed. “Know you not a destroyer may destroy ‘evil’ as readily as ‘good’? Or have you fallen from our faith as well?” He stamped and slashed for her head with no preliminaries – she just barely ducked, but a shaving of dark hair floated through the air!

Sarah gasped as the ajar doors to the Great Hall slammed closed of their own accord, and a wall of purple Chaos-fire ran blockade about the perimeter of the room! The king looked as if he were ready to jump into the fray, yet he was holding back, still sizing up the combatants as if he were trying to decide who to attack, which one had just done that! The booming of a battering ram commenced just outside!

The fire cut off the way _they_ had come in, too! Deirdre ran back up the stairs; they were forced to crawl across the musicians’ loft as quickly as was possible!

“Sarah, stay down!” the princess harshly whispered, yanking her arm, but Sarah couldn’t resist another quick peek at the continuing action down below – there went another chair!   They reached the stairs on the other side, passing the room – but that way too was barred by purple flames!   There was only one way left:   down into the Great Hall itself!   But from there where?! Edging along the far left perimeter, the princess bravely approached the eerily blazing doorway ahead of them, looking as if she were determining whether one could survive passing through by rolling – when the flames there abruptly extinguished as another figure ran past them through the doorway from the outside, down the stairs into the room!  

 _Random?!_   Sarah thought in disbelief!

The man was the spitting image of the current king of Amber, yet he wore the black-and-white of his cosmically-distant otherself; even his skin and hair were paler, now that there was color! He looked as if he had expected to have to instantly join a melee, armed as he was with a long, black-bladed Chaos-dirk in each hand… yet he paused as he viewed the true nature of the confrontation-in-progress, his ‘liege’ seemingly in no immediate danger!  

Drawing his opponent back up the aisle between the tables in retreat, away from the king, Brand suddenly spotted the newcomer briefly out of his peripheral vision… and it was all he could do not to laugh!

“What, ho! A fellow conspirator!” his voice rang out joyfully.   “I would salute you for – finally being on the right – side – but I find myself – occupied!” he continued parrying and counter-parrying Dara’s progressively sloppier attacks, swinging widely himself to try and tempt her into making a deadly mistake, opening her defenses too far! “If you’ve nothing better to do, good sir, would you care to – assist me in taking out – the _bitch_ who initially stabbed me in the back,” – he deflected a stab to his front! – “leading to – my terrestrial – ruin?” he advanced, beat in quarte, and would have landed a severe cut to Dara’s flank had she not vaulted out-of-line again, aiming a karate-like kick at his chest in the process, which _did_ land him on the floor momentarily as she garnered a better position to defend herself!

“I sense that you are in the right on this one point, Patterner, though I know not how I am certain, yet it is not by coercion,” ‘Randor’ gave answer, sounding spookily like the man he was garbed as, metal spheres levitating out of his pockets as he cautiously advanced, glancing askance of ‘Mandom’, who shrugged… then began to come also! Brand rushed to close with her again, this time not waiting for her to compose an attack, enveloping her blade, attempting to wrench it aside by brute strength, bringing them up corps-a-corps! “And I cannot help but feel that something of my own has been stolen also in our current situation – a mere hunch, but one I’d be willing to stake my life upon.   Were you asking for a second, or-”

“ _Ambush_ her, you pretentious fools! She just got her second wind!” he leaped back, his wrist badly cut! She had just produced a dagger!

The two of them dashed toward the combatants – and Sarah was startled to alertness, dragged through the now-open doorway, nearly getting mowed down by a pack of armored soldiers as they dashed across the back passage! On through the servants’ quarters, toward another hidden, squared staircase!

“We’ll never get through below now – too many people! I never slaughter the innocent, even in abstraction!” the princess called back to Sarah as they pounded their way up the risers! “We’ll get away out the window in my room! This way!”

Reaching the second-floor landing, the pair zigzagged right, then left down a long stone hallway, passing the first connected passage but taking the second to the right, almost all the way to the end, stopping at the last heavy, polished wooden door to the left!   The princess extracted a key out from under her short scalemaille tunic; a second later they were in! Sarah dashed past a small but well-appointed modern living room, into the sleeping area!

“Strip the bedclothes, the curtains, everything! We’ll use my clothing if we have to!”

Working as fast as they could, the princess’ queen-sized mattress, windowpane and wardrobe were all on the floor in under a minute, the tying together process nearly completed in five! Normally a happy sight, Sarah was terrified to find the initial preglow of the dawn spreading across the far eastern horizon beyond the ocean, coming up faster than it ever came up on Earth – or even Amber below!

Below!

Tying the first blanket about the leg of a heavy bookcase near the narrow window, the remaining bundle of fabric was gradually let out so that it wouldn’t get stuck: it was fifteen feet short at the end, but it had almost reached the courtyard! As the princess had predicted, most of the activity was happening near the inner front portal now; there wasn’t so much as a single guard on this side for the moment – and the portcullis was still open!

“You go down first,” the princess ordered, “I’ll stand on the blanket on this end just to make sure it doesn’t slip. Hurry!”

Sarah peered out the thin, gothic-arched portal and gulped: it was still a long ways down! Golden trailers were starting to cut delicate, lacy holes through the castle’s outer wall, straight through reality as before, the effect even more startling because the place actually _looked_ real now!

Deirdre surprised Sarah, suddenly taking her in her arms, crushing her to her armored breast in a fierce _hug_ , kissing her brow before releasing her!

“Go with love – I’ll hold the line steady!”

Sarah gingerly sidled out of the thin opening, careful not to scrape herself against any of the sharp edges, clasping the fabric for dear life… then jumping over the side, the makeshift ‘rope’ swinging for a moment as she kept breathing! Shimmying down with her knees, hand under hand, as fast as she could without getting rugburn, she couldn’t ignore the increasing light, the bigger golden holes, the beginnings of warmth on her back… she made the mistake of looking down and screamed: a quarter of the ground was already missing, rapidly edging toward a third, Amber’s choppy ocean showing clearly through the rifts!

“Don’t stop!” the princess cried out. “Slide and run!”

Sarah gritted her teeth and loosened her grip, feeling the friction like fire against her palms – but the progression of that unmerciful dawn was simply too fast; only broken pathways of ground remained, and those were thinning as she stared after them!   By the time she was reaching the bottom, there was no longer a reason to let go: she dangled precariously miles above the ocean… and the Castle was starting to go as well!

Sarah was so shocked that she couldn’t even cry; she suddenly felt as if this wasn’t real at all, as if she were only dreaming. Looking back up, she found that she could see straight through the walls: the full-out brawl in the Great Hall was still raging on in spite of everything, the many figures within blurred, obscured… except for Brand – oh, how he _shone_ , fallen angel that he was, come into his kingdom at last. For him she could almost cry…

At least she was seeing the best sunrise in all of existence. She turned away from what was left of the inner walls to face the rising rim of the sunstar, not bothering to shield her eyes; that brilliant light, that pure warmth, would be the last thing she would know…

… but a dark form she couldn’t quite make out from this distance was floating rapidly toward her from the south, flying with apparently no visible form of propulsion, its shape so strange that it took her overtaxed brain several seconds to even attempt to identify it; at last it drew close enough to be unmistakable, yet still unbelievable!

 _A sleigh, drawn by a team of flying reindeer?! _Sarah had heard of seeing one’s life flash before one’s eyes moments before death, but she was just overtly hallucinating! Santa?! No, but…

“Hey, joy to the friggin’ worlds, already!”

“Carl!”

“It ain’t Father Christmas,” he dryly quipped, closing the distance between them, the old-fashioned vehicle on skates coming in just beneath her! “Drop in, kid!”

Sarah let go – and fell only three feet, collapsing onto the generously-sized fur-covered bench seat, spontaneously sobbing in relief… then in a flash it all came back to her: she hadn’t been alone! “The _princess_!” she screamed in alarm, pointing up toward the open window!

“DEIRDRE!”

It was amazing that she was still there at all; the line of blankets blew away, unmoored from the lack of a bookcase! She was clinging precariously to what little was left of the vanishing windowsill, crouching in it… and _she_ was physically unraveling, too, the matrix of her Pattern-form becoming apparent!

“Hold on, I’m coming!” Corwin called up, standing in the sleigh, wheeling his team higher! “And I finally learned a way to save you!   Just hang in there a little longer!   You’re going to be fine!”

But it was only too clear that he was already too late: the lady was translucent, and her feet and legs were beginning to disappear! Tears suddenly filled Sarah’s eyes.

Deirdre’s expression was one of peace, a gentle smile gracing her beautiful features.

“I love you, too, Corwin.”

It was all she had time to say – before she fell, straight _through_ the bed of the sleigh, evaporating in the sunlight!

“ _NO!_ ” Corwin screamed in anguish, gripping the edge, looking out over the side –

But there was no one there.   The princess was gone.

They both missed seeing a lone _solid_ figure – a woman in red and black – plummeting toward the surface of the water far below… only to _vanish_ seconds before impact.  

The prince numbly sat back in the bench, his eyes closed with tears he refused to shed; Sarah moved over to him, but he caught her off-guard, stiff-arming her, denying even a show of sympathy.

He refused to speak for almost ten minutes.

Sarah carefully gave him his space, drying her own eyes on the sleeve of her dress, going to wipe her nose… when she realized that she was still clutching that stupid cloth bag – and that it was not empty! She slowly removed the carved caribou with a new-found reverence – then blew her nose on the cloth, carelessly dropping it overboard, watching it sail like a bird down to the surface of the water, washing under in the waves. Looking back up, Tir-na Nog’th had vanished completely. Whatever had been done was done now; it was up to the ghosts to set things right from here. And Prince Brand, what was left of him; she had no idea what form his power would take on there, or even what manner of ruler he would make. She could only hope that with an entire world on his side for once that his better impulses would rule him.   Rinaldo had to have loved him for a _reason_.

Ghost-Corwin finally glanced in Sarah’s direction with a decidedly jaundiced, drier eye. “I’m certain the moment I say this you’re going to censure me as everyone always has, but no living man has ever had a sister as I had. I’ve spent centuries asking the deaf powers, why, oh _why_ did she have to be my _sister_? No better woman has ever walked the worlds: she was brave and beautiful and so _kind_ …”

That _was_ a strange situation! Under normal circumstances Sarah would’ve been nauseated at even the mention of the idea, but _this_ … having met her…knowing that it was all-but-impossible for a Barimen to ever feel truly and wholly understood by someone who was _not_ as they were…

She only nodded, stifling her moral misgivings for the prince’s sake, reminding herself that cousin and indeed sibling marriages were the social norm for many ancient-world monarchies… and then an even stranger thought occurred to her!

“What bearing could even familial physical relation have for two Pattern-ghosts?”

The prince looked thunderstruck. “Mainly that we remember what we were before – technically, _none_! I’ll admit, some of the finer existential points of this state-of-being still elude me in practice, something about ‘not seeing the Arden for her spruces’,” he took the reins that had been resting in the bottom of the sleigh into his hands again, shaking his head. “Good call, though, kid,” he gave the reins a little shake – starting his team again – then looked at Sarah more closely. “You’re _not_ a kid anymore. How old are you now?”

“Eighteen.”

“That’s adult in my book,” he commented offhandedly, circling them back around the summit of Mount Kolvir; the panoramic view from up here was simply incredible! But there was something brilliantly _white_ down there, standing on the remaining three stone steps at the base of the ghostly flight that only ran up to Tir-na Nog’th at night.

“Is…is that…oh, it _couldn’t_ be!”

“Don’t look Her in the eye; the experience can be fatal for humans,” the prince warned… with a sudden smile! “I guess I can mention now that we were really in the neighborhood on business, and She made you a part of it.”

Sarah nearly slapped herself in the forehead. “Yeah, I suppose it’s sort of stupid to think that you just magically appeared right when I needed you out of the goodness of your heart. So, what’s going down in Argentland?”

“Détente,” he pointed down, away toward the trees: Sarah couldn’t quite see what he was showing her at first… but then a silvery figure emerged from the evergreens, walking in stately fashion, warily approaching Amber’s fabled progenitor, his rack of antlers gleaming in the morning sun: it was the Silver Reindeer! “This incident with the Dreamstone came just a little too close to home for Him. He alerted me to your approach to our set of shadows, of the superficial psychical damage that even the Stone’s fleeting presence had caused there just from you passing through with it! He’s had time to come to terms with the fact that he’s an unwanted child, so-to-speak, but we’ve come in peace to see if some kind of an understanding can be reached between the two Orders – with _both_ equal, neither greater or lesser than the other. Together we could provide a unified front against any new threats from Chaos and its denizens; just think of how much of the spectrum of Shadow we dominate already! He has no argument with the Order he proceeds from. She should have no true reason to hate us beyond general principle on the basis of having held supremacy alone for so long. This might be the world She brought into being by driving my grandfather to insanity, but it is no longer that _time_. She _must_ be made to understand this, for all our sakes – look away!” he suddenly warned!

The deep rumble of faint thunder pulsed through the air like a giant’s heartbeat! Sarah scooted way down in the bench as Ghost-Corwin leaned over the side, making the team circle again.

“We don’t just exist to piss you off, Grandmother!” he called down… and all-of-a-sudden Sarah felt as if she had just made the proverbial jump out of the frying pan; the middle of that ocean below them on the other side was likely safer than where she was sitting right now! “All I can hope is that whatever Dworkin’s cooking up, that you still have him wrapped around the tip of your horn – you knew the goods were odd when you took him! Our ancient enemy is still far too dangerous for us to be weakened by in-fighting, when we all basically want the same world-outcome! Leave us alone, and we’ll have your back where it counts, out by the Divide! Say you are _for_ us, Grandmother, please!”

Sarah’s heart was in her throat – the silence down there was way too tense!

…was that a soft nickering?   The prince was still watching over the side, stone-faced, revealing nothing. The rumble came and went, came and went… and then it started to mist lightly, blowing sideways from a smattering of relatively non-threatening-looking clouds, out of the west!

Sweet, fresh rain!   Not even a downpour, just enough to pleasantly moisten the world below! Sarah leaned back in profound relief, letting the light precipitation wash her face as she unclenched her hands… from around the carved caribou – and remembered!

“Carl, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was given a message for the Reindeer! A strange being that calls himself Raven says ‘hi’ to the both of you; He should know who that is!”

Ghost-Corwin raised his dark brows, eying her carefully, clearly dubious of the request, but nevertheless shouted it down. “Hey, do we know anybody named Raven? He’s sending his friendly greetings, for whatever that’s worth!” He looked back at Sarah. “I think He just nodded down there; He’s not about to mess with environmental stimuli in the Unicorn’s territory after what we’ve just managed to accomplish here. Someone you ran into, I take it?”

Sarah nodded. “A very _, very_ long way from here… probably not far at all, the way you would count it. I don’t think I even passed the Dancing Mountains, so far as I know.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” the prince settled back into the bench himself, giving the reins a good snap, sending the vehicle flying out to the north, over the dense Arden Forest far below. “I think I’m finished in Amber for the day. Did you need a lift home? Or do you want to come visit Corwinia for a while? You would certainly be welcome in our capitol city, now that you’re not wearing something that could destroy it. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re still in the process of recruiting for our corner of the multiverse: talented misfits, artists, and otherwise skilled people who won’t be a pain in my original’s ass are being encouraged to emigrate from nearby shadows, the way my old man initially populated Amber, but with cushier incentives to come and stay than free plots of land to build a peasant shack on. There’s already housing and amenities because the Argent Pattern was drawn from an urbane mind. What do you think? Want to come spend a little time with an old friend?” he gave her a winning little smile.  

Sarah felt flattered for all of three seconds – before she realized that the bid meant that she had something that the Argent Pattern wanted, badly enough to save her life! Twice! It _had_ to have been her imprint from the true Jewel of Judgment, she quickly decided; having two adepts on hand was always preferable to having only one, especially when the second one had a seemingly unique set of capabilities.   And considering the new power’s still-uncertain future, the move made sense if even from a strictly passive-preemptive position. But she couldn’t possibly accept.

At least not right now…

Sarah scooted right next to Ghost-Corwin and leaned in, giving him a light peck on the cheek!   “If I didn’t have somewhere else I need to be, it would be tempting.”

He automatically glanced down at her in surprise, but his expression was bemusedly wary.

“Watch out, or you’re going to grow up to be one of _us_.”

Sarah grinned at the remark, sitting back again – then stopped, suddenly thinking. “Okay, I’m going to just come right out and ask this:   are spoken sentiments like that supposed to be complimentary coming from an Amberite, or is it a real warning, or even a statement of acknowledged threat? I got the feeling it’s considered a compliment in the Courts, but I was never certain the practice followed elsewhere.”

“Take it at face-value,” he answered her just as bluntly, “it’s probably a little of all of the above.   Was that a ‘yes’ on the ride home, then?”

“Yeah, but I’m in Syracuse now.”

“Nothing wrong with moving upstate. You are going to school up there?”

“Yep; Syracuse U.”

“And you’ve been ditching classes in your first semester to go gallivanting across the multiverse _why_?” he grilled her.

Sarah laughed, but it sounded closer to a sob.

“It’s a _long_ story…   hey, whatever happened to your BelAir?   I guess you can’t go flying in it – or can you?!”

“Would you believe that it got stepped on by a dinosaur who could’ve passed for Godzilla?”

“Unfortunately I _can_ – hopefully without you in it?”

The prince chuckled, shaking his head. “Just one of those stupid occurrences in shadow that nobody warns you can happen and then _does_ : one minute you’re stepping into a fast-food-style restaurant to pick up a bucket of Kenni Roi’s Kentucki Fried Lizzard Partes, and the next thing you know the main course has gotten loose and is taking its aggravation at being incorrectly anesthetized out on the parking lot! Glad you weren’t along for that one; I’m not going back to that shadow until the place gets some better management.”

Sarah in turn talked for the better part of two hours as they soared over constantly changing shadow-landscapes, mountains rainforesting over to lush valleys filling to swamplands running into an ocean… but after a time she slept, dead exhausted – and awoke much later to find she’d been covered up in the prince’s long cape.

 _It’s like a letter-jacket_ , she thought with a smirk, feeling the soft fabric from the inside before folding it up nicely, asking him to pull over for a pit-stop.

They were right in the middle of lunch ( _not_ Fried Lizzard Partes; chicken roasted with savory herbs and diced grilled potatoes) when she got a trump-call – from Merlin!  

“Sarah! Thank the powers you’re all right! I’m so sorry I didn’t contact you any sooner, but I literally just escaped a four-hour meeting with the king of Amber that had begun as an emergency war conference, with him and a whole mess of angry Amberite nobles! Averted, I see now, but…” he exhaled a huge breath, “that was _way_ too close. Where are you? You seem to be in public. I can lighten the transmission a little and give you time to excuse yourself.”

“It’s alright, your excellency,” Sarah whispered, smiling – and grabbed Ghost-Corwin’s forearm from across the table!

“Dad?!… oh, not _again_!”

“It’s good to see you, too, son,” his father dryly remarked with a little smile. “You were busy being important to a lot of other people, I take it. If your great-grandfather is still able to putter around in Shadow, then your old man can certainly shake a leg every now and then. I’ve just heard the whole account if you’d care to hear it under better circumstances; among other things, it’s instructive of just to what extent the more intelligent creatures of Shadow are actually keep tabs on us, actually recognizing from experience that we are _not_ as they are. But we’re eating just now; when we’re finished I’m taking her home.   Can you give us a couple hours?   Or would you care to come through and join us? We can step outside and bring you in.”

“The offer’s generous, Dad, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time – and neither does _she_ for that matter; there’s a little personal business of hers that demands my immediate attention, from the little I’ve managed to glean from my sources.”

Sarah went cold; she’d clean forgotten! Her _apartment_ – and her fetch!

“Do I have to leave right now?”

“Finish what’s on your plate. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

He was gone.

“Now do you see why I decided against the whole ‘king’ business? It winds up eating your entire life so you don’t have any time to take care of the things that truly matter,” Ghost-Corwin observed, recommencing his meal. “But if I’m about to have to say goodbye again, tell me more of this Raven character – you’ve just given me an idea, but I’ll have to run it past my Pattern.”

Sarah quickly recounted absolutely everything she could remember between hurried bites, ruing that she never had any time to hear _him_ talk on any subject at length!

“I know someone like me is probably small potatoes in the big picture of things,” she laughed self-deprecatingly once they were back outside; she was stroking the lead reindeer in his team, hearing the odd, soft, hoglike grunting noises it made. “But don’t be a stranger? If it’s not presumptuous, I really _would_ like to spend some time with you when the world isn’t ending or something. You seem like an interesting guy.”

The prince coolly observed her, slowly tilting his head back. “You realize you’ve just invited a manifestation of the Argent Pattern into your life? Are you sure you really want that kind of bother on your home-turf, with both of the others already squabbling over your pawn-piece?”

“They’ll be doing that anyway,” she shrugged with a little smile. “And apparently I’m considered a rook.”

When Merlin appeared again in her mind’s eye, she stepped behind Ghost-Corwin to be out of the line-of-sight of the restaurant; taking the king’s hand, she vanished-

-reappearing in the passenger seat of a parked car, just outside of her apartment building! It looked like it was evening here, and the king of Chaos was sitting behind the wheel, dressed simply in his humanform:   just a purple flannel shirt, blue jeans and boots.

“Thought I’d give us a little cover,” he explained quietly, “this whole vehicle is currently surrounded by a Silence Curtain, besides. Now that I have you here, I can explain this a little better without an audience I don’t want hearing what I’m about to tell you under _any_ circumstances, is that understood?”

Sarah nodded firmly.

“I’m giving you full disclosure in letting you know that I’m telling you very _little_ of this.   Suffice to say that the responsible party merely copied your memory bank, enough so to make the ruse seem realistic. Your soul _isn’t_ separated out; you’re as whole as you ever were, and keep repeating that to yourself until you believe it again. That was entirely accomplished by the power of suggestion! You’re actually nominally okay, as far as I can tell, considering what you’ve been through – and I _will_ give you a method of messaging me before I leave tonight, in case you ever need to talk to me about _anything_. That part’s no problem. What you _should_ be worried about is what the heck the perpetrator left behind here in your place. You’d better let me go first; some of our demons can be difficult to control, let alone predict. I can protect you, but I want you here for this: you deserve to know at least this much after all that. Shall we?” He touched his ring for a moment – then unlocked the car doors and opened the driver’s side, stepping out. Sarah exited also, looking about; nothing untoward out here, not that she could sense, anyway…

As they quietly walked up to the front door of the building, she noticed that he was fiddling with his ring some more, as if readying it for use! Opening the door for her, he mounted the stairs ahead of her noiselessly, not even stopping to ask her which landing, which door; he had to have been feeling his way! He stopped just outside of hers.

“I don’t have the key on me,” she whispered.

He wordlessly motioned her back – then incinerated the ward like tissue paper and opened the door as if it had never been locked, power viscerally coursing through his body in black waves! He uttered a fast string of syllables in Ancient Chaosian Thari as he boldly strode into the living room area, a bidding spell that would brook no uncompliance!

Sarah’s breath caught as she saw _her own form_ float into the room, changing shape, changing _color_ , morphing in midair, into-

“Please! Not the face! I beg of you!” a trembling female voice pleaded… one Sarah thought she would never hear again!

“Sofi?!”

Large coal-black angel’s wings were cocooned about the small, odd, sexless black body, more in the manner of a bat! They slowly unwrapped: the creature was holding her three-digited clawed hands over her face, beneath the thin, grayish downy feathers that passed for her hair… but she presently lowered them, observing Sarah with Sarah’s own features in monochrome like an onyx bust, tears standing in the bright, red-irised eyes!

“Do you swear by the power of the Abyss that spawned you that you will not attempt to harm either of us – nor anyone of this shadow – if I release you?” Merlin put to her sternly.

“I would never harm my young mistress,” Sofi quietly gave answer, sounding subservient as ever, “but for your exalted sake, I will so swear.”

The king of Chaos carefully retracted his power, retaining his own personal ward, as the demoness landed upon her huge bird-feet upon the living room carpet – and Sarah raced to embrace her, falling to her knees!

“Oh, Sofi! Are you alright?”

“I am now… I think,” she carefully returned the hominid-style embrace for a moment, before backing away. “But it has been a torture being separated first from my good master in a new house, then stolen away and compelled even further against my will! Please believe that I tried to fight the Lady of Sawall, but she was too strong for me!”

“I forgive you,” Sarah said calmly “but what happened?”

“… may I roost on your ‘coffee table’, Mistress? There isn’t quite enough room for my wings for me to sit upright here, as befits the presence of the king – after you, your exalted excellency,” she gestured graciously toward the sofa with one lithe, black-scaled arm… then seemed to remember herself! “Oh, forgive my impertinence, Mistress! I have grown so used to being mistress of this tiny houselet!”

“It’s alright,” Sarah sighed, getting back up. “Do you want some coffee, your excellency? I should still have some around here; I doubt she drank it.”

“I’ll never turn it down,” he smiled, seating himself, “but you bring up an interesting point: what _have_ you been living on out here, demoness?”

Sofi made a parrot-like flutter-hop up to the tabletop, settling in. “Strangely enough, there is a specialized diet option upon this shadow that nearly allows one to eat as I require: it is called ‘At-kins’, but what it means is ‘meat and almost nothing else’! It is touted to make a human body lose excess fat mass; I have done nothing but _gain_ at brief intervals!” she laughed.

“What do you know,” Merlin commented wryly with a smirk. “Robert Atkins finally did something other than raise somebody’s cholesterol.”

“What was that you said about a ‘new master’?” Sarah pressed, turning on the percolator before coming over to join them, sitting down on the sofa .

“I believe you might be a little more familiar with this social phenomenon that you might think, Sarah,” the king began carefully. “Really, some of the aspects of losing one’s title are not unlike what can happen in a divorce on Earth – or a bankruptcy, for that matter, if you want to get really crass about it – with a redistribution of goods, possessions, dependents, etcetera. Guess who counts as a _possession_?” he glanced at the sizable, birdlike figure upon the table, who demurely lowered her eyes.

“My new master, Lord Despil Sawall, is not a bad master… or at least he hadn’t been; I’ve no idea what he will do upon my return! He will think I broke the spell and ran away!”

“He probably hasn’t even _noticed_ ,” Merlin reassured her, “but I’ll talk to him. Please continue.”

Sofi shifted her feet.   “There is a proverb, Mistress, which has been deliberately circulated by the Chaosian nobility amongst my people for eons: ‘better a clean cage with good care, than freedom with neglect and want.’ I had never believed this saying, for even one such as myself recognizes it as propaganda, but I think I understand what it refers to now. Lord Despil _was_ kind, in putting me at relative liberty in the Ways of Sawall, for he had no immediate use for me, and simply bid me to be at my leisure against such a time as he might call upon me. My new master appears to prefer servants of a more… oh, how to say it…”

“Of a more _sinister_ persuasion?” Sarah tried.

“I would not have put it quite so forwardly… but, yes. I was wandering all-but-freely for perhaps the first time since my initial capture – exploring my new world – when Lady Dara… found me, somewhere I had not been warned to avoid as private property.” The demoness winced her humanoid eyes closed. “She compelled me to tell fully of myself – I thought that she was merely curious about an unfamiliar trespasser; such avenues of recompense are common practice in our world, usually paired with minor _geas_ against such happening again. But when I got to my association with _you,_ Mistress…” she lowered her head in shame, “she _trapped_ me. I know not what else she did to you beyond your initial deception. I only knew that you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do to help! I have meditated upon you – for you – but I know not if it ever did any good,” she looked up at Sarah uncertainly. “Even with the memory implants, it was difficult for me to integrate into your society, but I have dutifully gone to your classes, interacted with your equals, and taken notes for you – all in Thari, I’m afraid. My handwriting is a bit challenging to read besides, for I have but seldom been called upon to even hold a pen, and you have two more digits than I am accustomed to utilizing. I am certain I have not done it as well as you could have, Mistress – again I beg your forgiveness for my inadequacy.”

“Oh, Sofi, you did what you could,” Sarah reassured her. “Actually, the more I think about it, I’m almost a little proud that you could pull that off at all: being thrown into a totally alien world and ‘passing’ in it!”

Sofi’s black cheeks lightened grey as she suppressed a small smile. “Thank you, Mistress; you are kind.” She glanced in turn at Merlin a bit more uneasily. “But I think it is time for me to return where I belong now, with his exalted excellency’s permission and assistance, if it is not too bold to ask? I have never even dreamed of being so far from home, and I could not mark the way on the shadow-pull over, for I was deliberately kept in a state of passive confusion,” she stood up, hopping off the table with an unmistakable look of duty in her brightly-colored eyes, beholding the king expectantly.

Merlin looked as if he were mulling something over as he lightly stroked his short beard.

“Do you actually _want_ to go back to Despil?”

“…forgive me, your exalted excellency, but I believe I am not free to answer that question-”

“Answer it – that’s an overriding order,” he sat up straight, directly facing her. “And your choice now _will_ affect your future.”

A sudden look of hope came into her strange eyes. “Would you… would you send me back to Lord Mandor instead?” her voice almost trembled.

The king of Chaos smirked.   “You and every other female who’s ever met him” he shook his head a little. “The saner of my two younger brothers is certainly level-headed enough for one of us when it comes to most things, but apparently he doesn’t know what to do with an Ariel-type spirit: it’s a bad match personality-wise. I don’t think Mandor would have any objections to taking you back; as far as I know, he’s currently ‘roughing it’ with only a scanty humanoid staff at the moment in his new residence with my aunt Fiona; it _is_ on this side of the Dancing Mountains, though. You would actually be fine with that mentally?” he balked a little.

Sofi looked as if she were suppressing a laugh… and Sarah suddenly recalled that Mandor had already been here – and had apparently dealt kindly with her!

“If I was allowed my own will in this, I would happily go and be a songbird in my old master’s house once more, wherever it is. But… as long as you have tentatively granted me permission to speak my mind… would it not better serve your own interests if I stayed on here through the end of the week?   Even I can tell that Mistress is exhausted, and she has quite a lot of information to learn in such a short space of time! Let me be her for just three more Earth-days, then she can return to her classes herself next ‘week’?”

“Better make it two,” Merlin edited flatly, sitting back again, looking for all the world as if he were truly holding ‘court’ here! “I can’t promise brother Mandor will be quite _that_ lenient; you know well how he runs his life. I suppose there could be a small delay in the communication of our intent about you,” he mused, “considering how covertly I have to contact him these days. But you do realize that you would probably never return to Chaos-proper if you agree to this. You are officially committing to a more solid set of shadows, no matter what happens from here on out.”

Sofi’s look was decidedly hard for Sarah to read – enigmatically pragmatic, possibly. “As long as the clean cage is of Chaosian design, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s settled then, by royal decision. You have two Earth-days to get Sarah up-to-speed academically, starting now.   I will retrieve you punctually via spikard at the end of this time: you had better make the most of it.”

“Yes, exalted excellency,” she reverently lowered her head momentarily. “I cannot possibly express my gratitude sufficiently.”

“You can express it by staying close to Mandor and his household in the future, away from my _mother_ ,” Merlin added dryly. “Oh, Sarah!   Do you still have that ‘calling card’ ring I gave you back-in-the-day?”

“Yes; did you want that back, too?” she winced a little.

“No, I was actually thinking of utilizing it as a two-way walkie-talkie of sorts, linking it up with my spikard; the connection will be almost impossible to trace using an insularly private, third-party power-source. Bring it here and I’ll set it up quick; let’s see how my uncle’s and aunt’s intention spells are holding up,” he surrendered a smile.

Sarah dashed to her bedroom and dug the little carved black box she had gotten for the artifact out of the back of her sock drawer; retrieving it, she brought it back to the living room. Sofi had flapped up to one of the cupboards and was in the process of pouring the coffee – into _three_ mugs! – flying them back to the small table! She caught Sarah’s surprised expression.

“I had to learn to consume this publicly, for it is a social ‘norm’ among your peers,” she confided with a small conspiratory lip-smile, handing Sarah hers, going back for the powdered creamer and sugar dispensers!

Settling back into the couch, Sarah handed off the ring, and the king of Chaos immediately set about examining it with his own, the amethyst cabochon touching one of the spikard’s lines of energy, his eyes closing in concentration…

“…alright, guess I should’ve disabled those other two a while back; they’re breaking down in there, although the process wouldn’t hurt you even if you wore it now in its current condition. It just wouldn’t work properly. Bear with me for a minute.”  

Sarah would’ve been hard-pressed to be able to tell what precisely the king was doing without use of one of the powers to ‘see’ with, even though she could sort of feel the energy about his person viscerally changing every so often; a short while later, he opened his eyes again.

“There; that should hold for a _long_ time, and I’ll be notified if it ever needs an update,” he handed it off to her. “It’s safe to wear normally; it won’t do anything at all unless you activate it by both voice command and deliberate mental intent; I’ll come up with a good pass-phrase later and shoot it off to you. But for right now… I hate to chat and run, but I’m going to have to take this to go,” he caused a travel mug to materialize out of absolutely nowhere, pouring his mug of coffee into it, adding a little cream-and-sugar – then getting up and walking over to the pot, topping it up before screwing on the lid!   Both women stood out of culturally conditioned habit “The time-differential between here and the Thelbane is simply brutal,” he added, turning back. “I’ve already been away for nearly two weeks there, and I’ve had to keep checking in about every twenty minutes just to make sure they’re not lining up my successor, in the event of my political assassination in Amber! I promise I’ll be in contact you tonight via trump, Sarah. Take care.” He was fiddling with his ring.

“Thanks for everything, your excellency,” Sarah curtsied; Sofi was bowing low to her left.

“Don’t mention it – no, really, _don’t_ mention this to anyone; there’s near-peace between the two poles of existence once again and I’d like to keep it that way! I’ll be talking to you later.”

He vanished in the blink of an eye.

“I suppose I had better be gathering your study materials,” Sofi mentioned quietly, awkwardly walking to Sarah’s bedroom, her natural gate pigeon-toed; the girl followed her.

“I still can’t believe you did all that; I really _am_ proud of you, Sofi. But… would you mind terribly coming up with a different face?   It’s starting to feel really peculiar looking at ‘mine’ like this,” she sat down on the side of the bed.

“Oh, but of course!   A moment,” the demoness went and stood facing the corner, covering her borrowed features with her alien hands, literally adjusting them for a few seconds; when she turned back, she was far lovelier than Sarah could ever hope to be! Her face looked as perfect as a black porcelain Venetian mask!

 _Which is kind of what it is_, Sarah reflected…but she nodded approval, once she picked her jaw up off the floor!

“Good shock? Or bad shock?” Sofi queried uncertainly.

“Good…its _good_ ,” Sarah couldn’t stop staring. “You have no idea how pretty you can make yourself, by our standards.”

Sofi smiled self-consciously at the compliment, looking away; her humanoid smile was _dazzling_.   “I merely learn from example, like any trained ‘bird’. But we should be getting to work.” She grabbed and hoisted Sarah’s laden black-leather backpack onto the bed, where it landed with a light bounce, flapping her wings once to hop up also; there was _just_ enough room for her to move like that in here! “Do you want your coffee in here, Mistress? Or do you wish for us to adjourn to the ‘living room’? I never ate or drank anything in this room out of habit.”

“Not even the truffles?” Sarah jokingly quipped.

She should’ve known better.   “Oh, no, Mistress! I would never do such a thing after expressly being instructed not to! They are safe – right here!” Sofi rushed to the closet and dug the small, white paperboard box out from a box filled with photographs on the top shelf, carefully bringing it to Sarah, presenting it as if it were a precious object… looking a little guilty. “I _was_ curious: I sniffed it – very quickly – before stashing it hence, when Lady Dara left with you. I could detect the blossom essence immediately, from the shadow my good master graced you with during your stay with us, but I must confess I do not understand the attraction of the other substances it is infused into. Forgive me.”

“Oh, relax, I was just joking with you! But… alright, I can try to describe what this is like: you don’t have to tell me what it is – it’ll probably have the same low-level of appeal for me as these do for you – but just _imagine_ your favorite food flavor, the best version of it you’ve ever had, then condense it way down so that it’s powerfully rich yet still palatable in a really small amount – just a bite’s worth – then spike it with an extremely rare compound that would make you comfortably euphoric for a day-and-a-half, with no withdrawal afterward. _That’s_ what this is, for me.”

Sofi gasped at the revelation with a light shudder of pleasure – then had to swallow, licking her lips! “You make me salivate, Mistress!” she laughed. “My master must understand you very well, to concoct such a wondrous gift for you!”

Sarah looked away, stroking the bedspread absently. “Offhand, I’d say he’s made a science of understanding what makes the people in his circle-of-influence incredibly happy… because what makes _him_ happy is exercising active power over others. He must really get off on it, like you or I would with what I just described before.”

“I had never thought of it quite that way, Mistress,” Sofi hopped up beside her, facing the other way so that her wings could hang off the side of the mattress. “Perhaps you are right. But even at that, he would seem to… control the ‘impulse’ well. I can think of much worse things to crave,” she added quietly.

“No argument there,” Sarah sighed, pulling over and opening up her backpack, digging out a pile of textbooks and folders she had never even laid eyes on. Oh, _why_ couldn’t this have just waited until summer break like the last time?!

“Did you want your coffee in here, Mistress? You never said…”

“Yeah, go ahead and get them; if you’re getting hungry again, I’ll even phone out for delivery from the barbeque place downtown for pulled pork and tell them to hold the sauce.”

“It is a truly kind offer, Mistress,” Sofi called back from the living room, coming back with her hands full, “but I still only eat once a day, in the ‘morning’. How strange the passage of time in Chaos must have felt for you, when you grew up with such an obvious, unchanging and well-demarcated progression here!” she set the drinks down on the night stand, with coasters.  

“If anyone’s noticed, they’ll think you’re – _I’m_ – anorexic,” Sarah commented, grabbing hers, taking a sip, opening up the obscurely scrawled notes, “not eating enough on purpose, possibly for the same reason that we’re seemingly on the Atkins diet.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t know that was wrong! I suppose I’ve been making a mess of your life here, haven’t I? Again I-”

“Sofi?”

“Yes?”

“Stop constantly apologizing and demeaning yourself already and just help me _study_!” Sarah sagged exasperatedly! “Do you realize how difficult it would be for _me_ to even _learn_ to function as you do – let alone carry out what you might consider ‘daily tasks’ – even if I physically _had_ the ability?!”

“I… never gave that much thought, either,” the demoness looked down at her ‘lap’, such as it was, settling back in on the mattress with her mug. And suddenly smirked. “Should you wish, you may resume your native tongue with me,” she added – in careful American English! “I was ‘given’ the rudiments of your language along with your recent memories, but I have since learned to speak it passably; I had thought it might be rude, however, to use in front of the king,” she enunciated clearly!

Sarah glanced at those knowing, bright-red irises, that in turn tentatively met her own. She was still the same self-deprecating, self-underestimating, riddling old bird…

“Remind me to tell you about a creature I met off in Shadow named Raven, before you have to leave; I think you might _like_ him,” Sarah smirked, opening a hefty literature tome, mentally bracing herself for the heaviest scholastic cram of her life.

Thank the powers it was only Wednesday, by the perfectly marked-off wall calendar…


	10. Perception

Chapter 9 – Perception

It had been over a month since ‘the second incident’ – oh, the names people give major life events in the vain attempt to minimize their impact – and, aside of a rather peculiar transition period that made her awkwardness as an underclassmen in high school look positively tame, Sarah Williams had mostly settled back into her ‘normal’ Shadow-Earth existence with less difficulty than even she would have credited; it doubtless had to do with how she had learned to quickly adapt to any and all manner of life-circumstances existence threw her way during shadow-travel. Having to shadow-walk solo was a rather powerful influence on how one dealt with the world, almost a maturing force, not unlike anything which required a high level of conscious responsibility.

…but in the back of her mind, she was still quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop. The ‘end’ of her latest adventure felt almost a bit too clean, even with those few loose black threads – figurative filaments of Disorder that they were. It was enough to keep her a bit on guard, at least subconsciously. So, even though it was a genuine surprise when it finally happened, Sarah had not been entirely unprepared late one Saturday night when she was up writing a paper for her speech class in her bedroom, when she heard a quiet footfall in her living-room area…

Her reflexes were still unnaturally Chaos-fast: she managed to beat her intruder to the punch, raising the Sign to block the entrance to her room, leaping to her feet-

Instantaneously having to shield her eyes from the sudden, silent light-explosion on the other side!   As her vision gradually recovered, she belatedly saw that rather than the Logrus, the sinuous, defined line of the _Pattern_ filled her doorway, stretched out long-ways to fit! And standing directly behind it was… Mandor!

“I see that your reaction time is still in good condition from your training with us,” he ruefully smirked at her a bit lopsidedly, holding his hands up where she could see that they were empty, “I will confess reaction on my part as well there: the two powers tend to go off when thrown in each others’ ‘faces’ like that. But I truly came here in peace this time, Sarah; you can drop the Sign – you are in no danger from me, I swear.”

“I didn’t even know I could _do_ that!” she gaped in shock at the blue-glowing harbinger of Order that currently hung between them! “I’m not even sure I can _undo_ it: that was pure reflex!”

Her former guardian, on the other hand, looked far more amused than worried. “Fortunately for you, I have some small modicum of knowledge on the subject now, being married as I am to a Pattern-based sorceress.   You are right in thinking that your new Power cannot be handled as your old one was – you cannot even banish it, for self-annihilation is not in the Pattern’s nature. It _can_ be approached, however – with respect, always – but in contrast this style of arcane work is far closer to what you might recognize as near-divine mystical experience… yes, I _said_ that,” he addressed her wordless balk. “I do not deny the efficacy of powers other than the one I once served. At present, the Pattern is quite literally projected here because the imprint is _inside_ of you: to get it to withdraw, you must open yourself up to it, to accept it back once more, for you are as much become a part of it as it has become a part of _you_. Realize this oneness; I give you my word that neither I nor my power will move from this spot while you do this,” he offered solemnly.

Sarah took a deep breath and sighed, still not quite certain as to what was truly required of her here… but as she watched the Design a rather curious familiarity began to seep into the edges of her consciousness – not familiarity with an object or a locale, but more on the order of recognizing her own face, her own body! The room quickly stripped out of her vision until all that remained was that blue-glowing line. It was beyond beautiful: it was perfect.

“Accept it,” she heard Mandor’s voice urging her from somewhere.

 _Oh yes_...

The blue squiggle became larger and larger, until it was far bigger than she was, its center darkness like a bright pool, like the tear of some god… she felt herself drop into it, at total peace…

“Ground!   Ground now!”

Gradually becoming aware of her own body once more, Sarah suddenly remembered – and mentally forced all the excess energy that was _throbbing_ through her system down and out of the soles of her feet, into the planet upon which she was standing, a literal gift of the power of generation, down, down, to the core…

And gasped, her eyes snapping open…

She exhaled in relief, mentally present again, wiping the sweat from her brow: she was physically hot! Mandor was still standing there, leaning against the lintel with his arms crossed, the doorway now unblocked!

“You had better sit down and rest,” he advised her. “Even just watching, I could tell that was almost too much for your shadow-body to handle.”

“That’s… that’s even more invasive than the Logrus!” she panted, sitting on the near side of the bed, catching her breath… and then the idea occurred to her. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re here to warn me that I’m about to be spirited away to be indoctrinated into my Pattern-powers now!” she sagged. “Do you think it could at least wait until winter break? My most recent round of academic catching-up was no fun, to put it very mildly; I’m still a little behind.”

Mandor lips quirked into a small smile. “Actually, I am pleased that this is physiologically so difficult for you; it renders you all but useless to the agents of Order, and, apart from what you just experienced, it means that the chances of something happening by accident with it are practically none, for it both uses and requires far too much bioenergy for a shadow-being to successfully utilize.” He paused a moment, as if he were choosing his next words very carefully.   “I suppose it hurts nothing for you to know that the possibility _was_ discussed by various parties, I gather; perhaps some manner of provision might have been possible had you only been an initiate of the Broken Way. But the True Pattern takes far too much out of anyone not of Barimen blood, even in casual, basic use. Then again, you _were_ initiated into it by the Left Eye of the Serpent, and so lay claim to the Eye’s strength and resources,” he mused aloud, his gaze drifting away from her, far away… Returning, he shook his head a little. “Would that there was even a way to understand _why_ – but I suppose I’m not alone in wanting to know that,” he added quietly. “I _am_ sorry about the hour of my visit, from how late it appears to be here; it is still difficult for me to estimate travel-times in the Order shadows.”

“Yeah, not to be rude, but… why _are_ you here?” she put to him bluntly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you don’t do _anything_ without there being a good reason.”

The former Duke of Sawall nodded with a smirk, standing up straight once more. “Firstly, for whatever the gesture is worth, I come bearing a peace-offering.” Sarah watched as he walked into her living room, opened up the top of his long black travel jacket and extracted her ensorcelled pen – then produced ream after ream of paper from a different lower pocket, piling bound stacks upon her coffee table, along with the item! “You acquitted yourself well in our face-off, _Patterner_ ,” he emphasized with a light dig, “tying me up for the better part of an hour without so much as harming a hair on my head in the process; an amusing and somewhat novel variant of a simple boomerang spell, utilizing the Dreamstone as the catalyst, I am correct?”

She nodded once.   “Did you… have _trouble_ …”

“Getting free? Not particularly, once my wife arrived – although she nearly thought my predicament amusing enough to leave me there to proverbially ‘cool my heels’ while she continued on with the proper search herself.   But my soldiers had their orders, and were shifting away after you even as she stood there, pointing and laughing and taking pictures,” he added guardedly, allowing the extra unsaid information to sink in on its own. “By the time we were able to catch up with them, you were already departed for points unknown. One of them _did_ make a rather interesting side-discovery, however, which the princess subsequently returned to Castle Amber’s library,” he gave her a pointed look. “To be honest, I’m not entirely certain whether to be more impressed or irritated with you at the moment. A certain amount of your behavior can easily be dismissed as a mere lack of practical experience, but not _all_. Your native talents make you prone to rashness. And you have a definite knack for breaking shadow-men out of highly specialized prisons. If only you were an agent for Chaos… the last I knew, we still had at least two or three high-ranking political prisoners yet in the dungeons of Castle Amber; there are considerable rewards for their return by their respective houses, no questions asked as to the manner or method.”

Sarah involuntarily shivered, seeming to forget her overheating, as her eyes widened.

“Jareth!” she exclaimed; she had nearly forgotten!

“I _do_ have to ask about this one point, Sarah; it’s a rather delicate security issue,” he approached the open doorway again. “There was no way that man could have possibly freed himself from the Ways of Pleasure unaided – only his excellency knew of his initial capture and where he was being held prior to sentencing, not where I deposited him afterwards.   Once I had determined that my doppelganger could not be held accountable for his recent actions by reason of insanity, I cleaned up the more psychologically detrimental areas of his memory and placed him in a designer shadow-world, under permanent ‘house-arrest’ – a lotus-eater’s paradise, if you will – to be kept reasonably happy and sedate until such time as his natural death from old age, the kindest end I could give to one of my shadows short of killing him quickly myself and ending his misery. I do not care to undertake the demise of my shadows lightly, for I feel their passing in myself. How did you even _know_? How did you _do_ it?” he pressed.

“I _didn’t_ know,” she faltered, “at least not until after the fact – I know that sounds crazy, but it’s the truth, it was an accident!”

“Far too many of them occur in your vicinity,” he replied gravely. “Where were you when this thing happened?”

“Nowhere. In a dream… in transit? Surely it can’t make much difference at this point!”

“It does: the retainers of Sawall are hunting for him on his excellency’s orders even as we speak. If he has recovered even parts of his memory, it would make him dangerously unstable. He _must_ be found and apprehended before he becomes a threat to any of us that he remembers – this includes you.”

Sarah thought back on her crazy jaunt through the Hall of Mirrors while unconscious, uncertain of just how much to tell her former guardian – if, indeed, any. He clearly had no recollection of being present there himself, or he wouldn’t be asking her this, practically confirming something she had suspected with both Merlin and Corwin before him: the presence of personality and knowledge in the absence of the actual person in that non-place.

And then the possible fallout from those events suddenly came back to mind, if that part of it had been more real somehow! “I still don’t think what I know would help you at all, but it involved the Hall of Mirrors – I’ll say that much. If you _do_ catch up with him… if he should seem saner for any reason at all, _please_ question him thoroughly; the guy might only be guilty of having a lousy conscience, if the version I hope made it out of there on top.”

“You’re telling me there was more than one of him in that place?” Mandor frowned.

“Yes. No. Maybe. But there should only be one of him now; I’m just not sure which one,” she winced.

Mandor just exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, running a hand through his shock-white, shoulder-length hair – a mannerism she had never witnessed him perform… but Jareth did!   It had to be a stress-reaction!   He met her eyes again, seeming tired.   “I suppose I should send them out to his older haunts, then.” He looked for a moment as if he were trying to tease the answer out of the riddle of her existence… but the mood broke just as quickly, and he took in the view of her apartment instead. “This really isn’t a bad place you have here, for what it is,” he nodded approval of her deeply-colored, cheap, antiqued décor. “I can see the influence of your travels. The king of Amber chose the building, however, correct?”

“Yeah, this is just a rental; there are certain things I can’t change, like the wall color and the carpet,” she gingerly toed the thin-worn gray with one foot.

“It’s a start, though,” he conceded. “Are your classes going well, Sarah?” he paced back over to the coffee table casually, but did not make any motion to sit… because she had not invited him to do so!  

“You can have a seat if you want to,” she belatedly told him.

“Don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account; I can’t be here long anyway,” he easily replied, picking up the bound written stack on top of the pile, thumbing through it. His tone was pleasant enough, but Mandor Sawall’s sense of humor could run very dry in private, even a little sarcastic on very rare occasions. He hid it well in public, though.

“The course load is a little overwhelming at present, but I think I’m managing alright for right now; six students have already dropped one of my more specialized classes for the English side of my double-major.”

He glanced back at her, a little surprised. “You are voluntarily doubling?”

She nodded with a lip-smile.

“Then we must have done something right, to whet your appetite for such a level of study,” he added slyly, putting the volume back down. “I had to allow that pen to unload somewhat,” he explained in lieu of an apology, “the pressure was becoming too great for it to hold: the first fifty or so pages it literally spat ink at at a distance, and it fell into legible text! I have taken the liberty of disabling it again with an on/off-style Logrus-based spell for the moment, but perhaps his excellency would have a better long-term solution you could more easily operate yourself. In all seriousness, I don’t believe it _can_ be stopped for good without taking rather drastic action; it appears to draw upon the Abyss like an inkwell.” He abruptly smirked. “I also took the liberty of running that stack through an editing spell to excise the repetitive portions recording your daily life here in this shadow; I doubted you desired to read about every time you have cleaned yourself and driven your vehicle. Although such a record might have made a halfway decent beginner’s guide to human life on this planet, for Sofi.”

Sarah gasped. “How is she?! Did she make it out to where you are alright? I mean, if it’s still acceptable to ask…”

She couldn’t see where Mandor had wandered off to from where she currently stood, still well inside the sanctuary of her bedroom; chances were he was checking out one of her bookshelves, temporarily translating the titles to see what she had been reading lately. Normally she would have gone out to join him… but who knew whether that ‘normal’ existed anymore, for any number of reasons…

Her guess was probably right; when next he spoke, his voice came from over there.

“Your initial assessment of Sofi’s intrinsic worth may have been right on the money – that she’s more of a personal pet of mine than any kind of more reliable servant – but even at that I’d still be loath to lose her for a second time; she’s proven to be surprisingly useful to me under certain circumstances. And she has a lovely singing voice in her natural form; pity you never got to hear it.”

“She… told you about that – that I _knew_ before?”

“I made her tell me everything, the very moment I first arrived here; she’s never been out of Chaos proper, and what with the abduction and all I deemed the course of action a necessity,” he answered very matter-of-factly, walking back into view from the direction of her teensy kitchenette.

But _that_ meant… Sarah swallowed. “I forced her to shift on reflex the first time, back in Chaos: that wasn’t her fault! You didn’t…”

“ _Hurt_ her?” he plucked her thought easily. “Whatever for? Why should I damage one of my possessions? I assure you, the process is easy and painless – almost pleasurable, really. The feeling induced is one of profound relief, like what can accompany the unburdening of a guilty conscience,” he surrendered a knowing, off-kilter smile.

 _Alright, that’s sort of effrontery and vaguely disturbing,_ Sarah thought… before doing her best to suppress it; he could still clearly read her at this range!   She had gotten so used to living around people who were not naturally powerful psychics!

From his one arched snowy brow, she guessed that he’d heard it anyway… but he looked away with a small smile. “You are not of our world, Sarah; that’s all there is to it,” he said quietly. “Although… if you would be open to learn but one lesson further from your old mentor, I would impart a small jewel of wisdom I once presented to the sanest of my little brothers, and have subsequently been gratified with the knowledge that he took it to heart – you remember Lord Despil,” he eyed her sideways with an expression that landed somewhere between reproval and begrudged merriment. “Once involved in the game of the Powers, it can prove exceedingly difficult to extricate oneself, even if one wishes – as you are unfortunately learning from experience at present. But this need not herald great danger, _if_ you learn to play properly, in the background. I’m not about to pretend that you will stay on the sidelines forever, and so I will instruct you in how to conduct yourself.   You wear a target, Earth-… _lady_ ,” he corrected himself mid-word. “There is no use in denying this, either. You must work to make your vulnerable areas as small as manageable with both time and practice, making yourself appear as neutral or even inefficient toward all comers whilst quietly operating through the more subtle means at your disposal, circumventing at least some of the inherent danger without the other players’ knowledge. I know not how my directive will play out in your daily life on this end of the spectrum, but I feel that I hardly need to further spell out the general theory for you – you know of what I speak well enough from your time spent under my tutelage and my roof, and you have been gifted, or cursed, yet again with the basic means to influence the contest, if and when you choose to do so.”

“But do the pieces ever truly _play_?” she thought aloud – not remembering…

The former Duke of Sawall looked away, stonefaced: that one had hit perhaps a little too close to the mark, she belatedly realized.   Perhaps he suspected more than Merlin thought he did, and was merely saving face with his favorite relative, who also happened to be the king of his country. The more Sarah thought about it, the more the collective situation began to resemble an Old-West Mexican stand-off in her mind, with each combatant trying to decipher which of the other parties to be aiming for!

 _What a horrible way to have to live_ , she thought with a touch of pity.

And speaking of pawns…

“Jareth really _isn’t_ necessary to the Fixed Logrus at this point, is he?” she suddenly wondered aloud. “I mean, he’d made the complete circuit at least once – couldn’t She just make an edited ghost-copy of him, and life continue on there as usual?”

Mandor’s statue-face cracked with a crooked grin.

“I’m sure that if that’s what She was truly after in the long-game that it is already so, and that his replacement is likely doing a far better job than he ever did. You’ve truly no idea where the man is?”

“Nope. Sorry I couldn’t help you this time, either.”

Those singular ice-blue eyes flicked to hers, but he just nodded. “I should be on my way, then. Oh, there _was_ one other thing: life seems to have… oh, what’s that Shadow Earth phrase Merlin uses,” he mused, trying to remember, “ ‘thrown me a _curveball_ ’,” he stated definitively. “There are several working theories as to why the Barimen clan is as infertile as they historically appear to be, but those theorists have never been able to account for the small handful of successes in the second generation: to wit, my wife is currently pregnant, and we already know that the child will be a girl,” he couldn’t suppress his smile, the bright glint in his eyes.

“Oh, wow, congratulations!” Sarah gushed, striding toward him – but he put up a hand to stop her, shaking his head, yet still smiling.

“Your initial instinct was likely correct: I have been sorely tempted for the past few minutes to try and plant another tracker on your person or in your possessions someplace – but I haven’t. Let’s not spoil this,” he remarked wryly.   “The main reason I bring the point up, beyond traditional paternal bragging, is because I had thought of naming her after you, but I would never take such a step without your express permission. The idiomatic translation of ‘Sarah’ into High Chaosian Thari would be _Korza_. Fiona is fine with this, given its meaning of ‘princess’ in the original shadow-tongue, but she wouldn’t agree to any variant of ‘Marie’, for it is apparently more closely tied to a Shadow Earth religion that is antithetical to both of our belief-systems. Would you have any objections to this choice, or would it be all right?”

Sarah was simply floored, that he would have even thought to do this! The emotions that welled up within were almost overwhelming, that he really _did_ think of her this way, on some level… as a daughter! She fought back sudden tears, swallowing.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s _fine_ ,” she forced her voice steady, nodding, smiling, wishing that she could cross the few feet that lay between them to hug him once more… but she couldn’t. Not now.

The Divide between Order and Disorder existed for a reason.

She forced a laugh anyway.   “I suppose you’ll be needing that Order-child rearing manual you gave me back; you’ll have another halfie on your hands.”

“I would never be so gauche as to ask back a present-”

“Oh, _take_ it already!” she teasingly interrupted him, crossing her bedroom to the closet, digging it out from where she had hidden her Thari-language reading materials and tossing it to him; he caught it. She paused, then went to the small bookshelf by her bed on the left-hand side on a whim and tossed him a paperback novel as well, smiling. “You’ll have to translate that one, but The Scarlet Pimpernel does sort of remind me of your ethos now: graciously retiring toward the world, but _very_ active backstage, so-to-speak. It’s considered a classic an old in this shadow, kind of historical.”

Mandor seemed equal parts surprised and amused as he studied the picture on the cover, of the actors who had played the lead roles in the movie adaptation that had come out about seven years prior; the man was actually dressed similarly to his own taste, save that the dress-jacket was white instead of black! “Are you certain you wish to part with this, Sarah?”

“Oh, it’s alright, I can always get another copy; that’s actually a cheap, mass-machine-produced edition you’re holding there.”

He looked back up at her.   “Thank you, Sarah; I shall treasure it.” His smile widened nearly straight. “I could hardly believe that _you_ had treasured my flippant little present of truffles for so many years, when Sofi told me of it; I had thought they wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks at most!”

Sarah’s face fell.   “They’re not good anymore, are they?” she sighed. “Guess I should be grateful I found out before I ate another one; I’ve no idea whether that tincture you laced them with denatures or not,” she eyed him a bit uncertainly.

He quietly chuckled.   “Not exactly; it just starts to lose potency.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “If you would allow a small working of my power within your apartment, to retrieve something?”

Sarah lifted her head in guarded assent.

A familiar-feeling fist-sized black hole appeared before his free right hand; he immediately reached inside, up to the elbow, eyes closed, white brows knitted in concentration; approximately fifteen seconds later, his hand re-emerged with a bundle of tissue-paper… emitting a powerful floral attar, underlaid with an impossibly rich chocolate! Sarah found herself walking toward it, back around the bed, almost against her will!  

“You don’t smoke, either, which is just as well,” he noted wryly. “In celebration of my daughter-to-be,” he delicately placed the small bundle on top of her dresser. “These two are quite a bit stronger than the last batch since you are an adult now; each is not unlike a shot of liqueur – treat them accordingly.   I assumed you would want one now, but place the other in the box with the ones I gave you previously; it will serve to both refresh and preserve them for a far longer span of time. Put one away _before_ you consume the other, so that it doesn’t perfume your apartment and make you hunger for the rest all at once.”

“How long of a time-period are we talking here?” Sarah was already unwrapping them: the new ones had little pale-blue flecks of ground petals besides!

“Let us say that if I added any heavier preservative spells, I would artificially lengthen _your_ lifespan,” he noted in amusement… then stopped smiling as he saw both realization and hope dawn in her green eyes, remembering what she’d just physically been through! She glanced askance. “Long life to her namesake also,” he gestured graciously, adding one more ‘layer’ before retreating to the doorway again. “Needless to say, I am about to be _very_ busy for many years to come; should you see me again, it will likely not be as anyone’s agent. Fiona still isn’t too keen on the idea of guests at present, but I suspect part of that reticence is strictly familial: when one grows up in a veritable pod of cannibalistic fish, one learns to avoid them – and anything that might resemble them – for survival’s sake. I’m still working on her on that point.”

Sarah forced herself to take one step back from the mouthwatering compounds, trying in vain to ignore the psychologically undermining and pervasive stimuli, facing him again. That old satisfaction was present in his expression; he didn’t even try to hide it.

“Positive conditioning is in my nature, Sarah; it’s nothing personal. I work to make the process enjoyable when and where I can. Now – be _good_ , and try to stay neutral from here on out. Eat your vegetable matter. Continue to study hard. Do not neglect your fencing, for it keeps both body and mind in health. Don’t be afraid to push yourself to do just a little more than you think you can. And don’t _ever_ underestimate your own capabilities – they are greater than you currently believe. I have faith in you.”

 _I love you, too_ , she thought, doing her best not to cry. It was something that could never be said aloud, even under regular circumstances; Chaosian culture simply didn’t permit open displays of affection toward _anyone_ beyond caring for their needs the vast majority of the time.   The words weren’t used at all.   It was amazing that they _could_ love, she reflected, living in a world where ultimate Nothing was the ideal.

Love wasn’t _nothing_.

Mandor’s blue eyes suddenly seemed very distant to her, and a little bit cold. Alien. Chaosian.   He nodded in simple acknowledgement of what she felt, backing into her livingroom.

“Until the next time we meet, Sarah,” he bowed elegantly, as a man-sized pool of blackness opened up behind him in the fabric of reality…

“Goodbye,” was all she could say before it enveloped him and collapsed in on itself, winking back out with a particularly nasty-feeling little flourish, as if the Logrus had just flipped her off!

She was alone.  

She hadn’t felt this alone since…

Sarah quickly went to the closet and carefully got out the little white box of truffles before she could think any further, opening it and depositing the spare along with the extra wrapping, putting it back in the picture box where Sofi had hidden it, turning out all the lights and taking the remaining one to the bed as the full emotional brunt of what had just happened hit her like a punch to the gut…

She lay down and rashly popped the whole thing in her mouth in one go. She wouldn’t have been able to get any further with that speech paper tonight, anyway, with how she was feeling…

_There's still... tomorrow..._

Sarah deeply exhaled, swept away by nirvana-like waves of physical and mental bliss – that sweet, blessed Nothing – to be followed by a tight mesh of bright and happy dreams… even one in that stupid, poofy ballgown: so _shiny_ …

* * *

 

Sarilda Aricline-Barimen stared out of the lattice-paned window of her third-story quarters in Castle Amber – out toward the Arden, and freedom – as her private tutor chastised her yet again to pay attention to her physics lesson…

 

A man named Jareth sat at a low café table on a rounded silk cushion, drinking strong, spiced coffee and playing numerous betting games with an itinerant sorceror who may or may not have known him for what he was; the stakes were power, and both were cheating like there was no tomorrow…

 

Lady Dara Sawall lounged in a heated mineral spring just northwest of the volcano adjacent to the Ways of Sawall, the chemical cocktail doing wonders for her hooves and fur; she submerged, breathing through fresh-formed gills, making even more bubbles on the surface…

 

The ghost of a prince – who was less ghostly than his new subjects – reveled in his power in the City of the Night Sky, knowing that all comers would now be faced with _his_ dream, and not their own… but at least he was keeping order, along with a highly eclectic court…

 

Rhazazarak perched in a bleached rock outcropping under a blazing star, skillfully whetting a set of finely-hooked spear-tips before recalibrating his stun pod, reverently caring for the equipment entrusted to him, the cause behind it worth more to him than his own life, than that of his two females, and his spawn also…

 

Jasra Barimen was holed up in one of her many studies in the Citadel of the Keep, pouring through the old wizard’s books for more information on creating service phantasms from the Fount…

 

Shara Wilkins stepped into Midcity Comix Emporium for the first time in her life instead of passing the business on the street as usual, feeling more than a little crazy for asking the owner if he’d ever heard of a fantasy series called _Bordertown_ – only to be handed the most recent issue of _Border time_, with punk-looking biker elves splashed brightly over the cover…

 

Lord Suhuy complained that Lord Dworkin had taken his black bishop out of play without properly checking it, but Dworkin only smiled, voluntarily removing the white knight that had been situated next to it, ‘to even things up’, setting the pieces aside together…

 

The Eleven Watchers sat silently, near-motionless, as they had through the eons since the beginning of the current contest; one scratched his neighbor’s arm for him, for they had been forbidden to do anything for themselves upon reaching their current exalted state – forbidden by _whom_ , none could remember…

 

Death was pacing in midair, his black robes swirling about his gaunt form, still trying to figure out how to get down to the other end of the endlessly changing Hall of Life; it would make things so much simpler for his friend Time if he could manage it, and then perhaps they could go and do something else…

 

 

 

(The End?)

* * *

 

_Benediction: “Pilgrim”- Enya, A Day Without Rain_

_(Discomfiting Reckoning:   “The Waiting Room”- Sixpence None the Richer)_


End file.
